Upon The Wings Of Eagles (v2)
by Solaris-Prime199
Summary: It is rare to find a Space Marine with a sense of Humor, but Sergeant Sigmund isn't just any Ultramarine. Set upon the Eve of Humanities greatest triumph over adversity. Within moments of completion of the Emperors greatest work. Sigmund and his men are cast from the Webway into a strange and new Galaxy. Plans within Plots abound. Set before the Horus Heresy. (Rewriten)
1. Prologue

**Date Published: 23/09/2013**

 **Date Re-Edited:** **07/12/2016**

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **+=ImperialPalace=+**

 **+=Himalayas=+**

 **+=222** **nd** **Sub-Level=+**

 **+=Imperial Legion Barracks=+**

 **+=[222.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[14.05.05]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 46.54.04]=+**

* * *

Darkness

Silence

Contemplation

Dull muffled footsteps, hurried… soft… echoed across the dark dim Crypt-like Chamber filled with what – at first glance at least – appeared to be a dozen or more large fallen rough weathered stones. A robed shadow, swaddled in a deep red-cloak... tentatively approached a large lone hunched over figure sitting amongst the silent denizens in the darkness of the Tomb. This... Figure... this Statue, a dark giant… a dark Goliath... one seemingly carved roughly out of a pitch-black granite, covered in an endless series of swirling etchings, arcane symbols, and eldritch runes… each and everyone carved painstakingly right into the stone... carvings accountable each of which seemed to twist and flow down the monoliths form... as if alive... writhing continuously… swirling, shimmering with power, even in the dark. The Horse-Shoe, the Double-Headed Eagle, the Crux-Terminus, Lightning-Bolts, the Double-Ended Spear… all these and more shrouded within endless wreaths of Ivy and the carefully carved Feathered Multi-Winged Eagles. Each and every symbol surmounted – surrounded – enshrouded, by hundreds of Arcane – eldritch – runes, which had seemed to come alive under the dim flickering of a lone candle set on a small wooden table to the right of the giant.

The Monastic shadow – unrelenting in its advance – never ceased its sombre march onwards, towards the Ancient hunched before its own solitary Slab of Stone. Two small infinitesimal pin-pricks of light all but sparkled from within the deep cowl of our intrepid hero, glimmering like a pair of silver denarii upon the eyes of those awaiting the Boatman upon the shores of the Styx. His foot-steps… muffled, his progress silent... inexorable, a sombre procession of **One**. Our Hero – our intrepid adventurer in red – stopped for but a moment to cast his head from side to side as if … weary, to wake the other Giants that lay slumbering within this dark Crypt. Clasped to his breast protectively – almost Lovingly – wrapped in a soft sheep's wool cloth lay a small Electrum Chest (smaller than the palm of a baby's fist).

Eleven steps in he stopped, at the foot of the dark granite gray tomb lying behind the silent stone grey-Guardian, carefully... slowly... he turns to the Granite Watcher and uttered but a single word… a word that would one day change the Fates of not one, but Two Galaxies.

"Sigmund," hissed the Shadow, this single word… this single name… seemed to breathe life into the carved Stone Guardian. The Chiselled (but youthful) features of the Ancient Guardian, turned toward the sound – and with a grin that only can be described as wolfish – he inquired, "Have you brought the device, Quartermaster?"

Above that feral grin, above that wolfish smile, where a sharp pair of bevelled orbs... stunning in that they seemed to glow with a burning light, an inner – almost cerulean – Flame... and then the candle flickered and it was gone... his burning eyes flickered back to a no less stunning lavender hue. Surprisingly they also seemed to sparkle with a hint mischief, and an inexplicable burning... a deep inner desire... a deep almost forbidden craving… for Knowledge.

Sigmund's burning… fierce… gaze seemed to dim the meagre light from the lonesome candle, which sat atop a small rough wooden stool at the giants leather clad feet. Such a simple thing – that rough stool, that small candle – its meagre light thrown hopelessly across the giants terrible… savage visage. But even in terror, there is beauty… and Sigmund was a vision of such an ideal… the hard sharp lines of his face, were made that much more striking by a series of the seven Aquamarine Spirals... each one an unending Celtic Knot, spiralling… swirling into the next. This laborious artwork decorated the right-hand side of his face, it was very much like the warriors Moa-Ri Tribes of the Southern Arctic Wastes, the likes of which many had only seen in Picts.

The never-ending ultramarine blue braid, twisted and swirled from Sigmund's greying hairline, across the side of his chiselled nose, to the very tip of his square jawed chin. And all of those delicate… intricate Tattoos... those swirling shapes... those abstract patterns... seemingly sprung forth from the corner of his right-eye... spiralling outwards and ever onwards, and each a mystic swirl… the culmination of innumerable number of carefully placed eldritch Runes, of Fenrisian Origin... or so our Hero – our Quarter master – had been led to believe.

Sigmund was a talker… a splendid conversationalist… he knew just what to say and when to say it… people gravitated towards him like moths to a flame. Each and everyone hanging onto his words, his ideals, his thoughts… dancing… swirling around him like the Runes on his face. Each one of which had been laboriously carved right onto his face, much like those decorating the leather of his under-suit, and seemed to writhe under the gaze of the casual eye of any observer, much like the eyes of our intrepid adventurer.

"Yes, **Sergeant** ," declared our Hero snidely, quite easily making the rank sound like an insult… or a slap in the face.

"How it came to be there, in a small out of the way Supply Room... intended for the storage of discarded gardening implements and menial servitors, is anyone's guess. Emperor knows... **who**... decided that it would be safe in the Right-hand of a small rose-quartz **Cherub** ," replied our Hero, sarcasm dripping from his every word... obviously he found such a coincidence laughable.

The Mountain before our Hero began to rumble, to shift, and a chuckle (much like a landslide) followed shortly thereafter. Lazily the Mountain Who Laughs extended a massive leather clad shovel of a hand towards the sarcastic Explorer of Gardening Implements Long Forgotten, and the Quartermaster placed said small Treasure – which he had spent the better half of an evening searching for – within Sigmund's over-sized palm, his own hand seemingly dwarfed by the sheer size and bulk of the large shovel-like hand attached to the end of the leather bound tree-trunk Sergeant Sigmund called an arm.

"Why Thank You, my Good Man," purred the mountain known as Sigmund, "I hope this doesn't sound rude of me, my good friend, but I suggest you leave ... **quickly**."

Bellow the dark red Hood, a single well manicured eyebrow rapidly approached a hairline unseen, his face thus enshrouded, he spoke with a voice **Drenched** and quite frankly **Dripping** with Sarcasm, "may I ask why, my **Lord**?"

"I am about to wake my Brothers. **Loudly** ," the Sergeant responded, his tone of voice emotionless.

"I still don't-," began the Quartermaster.

"Did you notice any **caffeine** on the far counter, when you entered the room, my most sarcastic friend?" Sigmund interrupted with feigned casualness.

"Er-… **Noooo**."

"Then … what do you **think** would happen, when sixteen **decaffeinated** giants... Wake, to discover – much like you – that their one and only **Vice** is, oh-so… conspicuous in its absence? Said Giants, with the ability to tear Ogryns limb from limb?"

"What about **you** then?" the small man queried sarcastically, "why wait, what's to stop you putting **me** in harm's way?"

"I had to wait for you to bring me the Firing-pin for my Bolter, **first** ," the Sergeant replied sombrely, "I am no **fool** , my Good Man. I'll only risk the **decaffeinated undead** , once I – myself – am appropriately **armed**."

A little chuckle escaped the diminutive hooded figure, "Ahhh... the Burdens of Leadership is both heavy **and** dangerous."

The Quartermaster turned to leave, calling over his shoulder once he was nearly out of earshot, "better **you** than **me**."

The Sergeant (smiling gruffly) turned back to his own well appointed grey slab, which under the light of a single candle, turned out to be a rough recycled synth-wool blanket stretched tightly over a thin – and quite Spartan – mattress. The bed had been made, the corners tucked in with military precision, and upon that grey single bunk sat the miscellaneous components of a thoroughly dismantled weapon, its proportions were… **enormous** , but when it sat in the hands of the man kneeling before that mattress, it was…

 **Perfection**

By some quirk of **unknown** design – by some **unknown** form... some **unknown** equation of Euclidian Geometry – the heavily modified **,** **Phobos** **Pattern Bolter** , before him was **not** just some tool, **not** merely an extension of the man, of his arm. No...It truly was a **part** of Him. He had **waited** a long time for that final... purposefully misplaced firing-pin… but now with that final penultimate piece, that most vital of components was in his grasp... at last his Bolter... it would be whole, he would be **whole**.

With a handful of short delicate touches that belay his size... Sigmund pried open the delicate electrum box and removed the new tungsten-adamantium alloy firing-pin, with an air of **grace** and **dexterity** that seemed almost impossible for a man his stature. Pinched between a large thumb and leather wrapped fore-finger, he lined the small sharp piece up and slid it home into the Receiver-Block.

 **Sigmund** **chuckled** , nay rumbled... as he remembered the **look** of sheer irritation on the face of the over-worked Quartermaster, when he had asked the poor man to walk – exactly – two hundred and twenty-two paces, east from the entrance of the dormitory and then... to enter the second door on his right.

 _Ye shall find what I seek... in the hands of the Littlest Rosy-Cheeked Angel_.

 _All this to project an Aura of Mystery_ , he pondered morosely, sarcasm but a distant thought in his mind, _Ahh... it was so-much easier before the Trial of Magnus the Red…_ _before burden that was_ _the Edict of Nikea_.

Before the dissolution of the Libraries, before he had sworn to never use his powers again, he could have simply wiggled his fingers and the citizenry would have been in **awe** of him. Now… well it required a bit more work… a bit more skill. A bit of **clever** paperwork, and **some** – accidental – misplacement of a small – and very **shiny –** box. That would turn up in a **Mysterious** long since forgotten **Location** , deep within the bowels of the largest Imperial Archology on Terra… a location which **he** had to spent a **whole afternoon** pacing to find in the first place... it did sound a lot less mysterious when he thought it out loud.

Now all he would need is a small note, to a **Key** member of the Administratum (key as in, " **the biggest Gossip** "), and his **Aura of Mystery** would be maintained.

 _Me thinks it may have fallen a bit flat_ , Sigmund pondered sadly, _perhaps (in hind sight) if I had chosen a statue that_ _ **hadn't**_ _been using its' other hand to pick its' nose – perhaps then my Aura of Mystery would been more... Mysterious-y._

The purpose of it all, well… Sigmund wasn't exactly certain, just that it was of critical importance. Probably.

Now... He would not admit that it was because he was just so mind numbingly **bored** , no he would **never** admit to that.

He would most definitely **never** admit that it had been at least something to do… since they had been confined to this dreary barracks.

He certainly would **never** admit that spending the last three... **long**... never-ending weeks in this... dull grey dormitory... was in any way... **boring**.

He would also **never** admit that having nothing to do for those three... **long**... weeks, but the unending maintenance of his Wargear... was anything but... **boring**.

He would **never** admit that the proceeding **Six Months** he had spent stranded onboard the Strike Cruiser " **Ultramars' Fury** " (which had spent those **Six Months** not in Combat, but collecting a series of loose elements of the XIII)... was mind numbingly... **boring**.

Noooo… He would **never** admit that, but that didn't make it any less **true**.

But not **Today**.

No today **something** was going to happen, **something** only the Astartes of the Thirteenth could be trusted with. **Something** that had diverted more than full Ten Line-Companies of the Emperors Finest from their most critical rendezvous with the rest of the Thirteenth, and the Seventeenth, in Orbit above Calth. That **something** was a Mission... a Mission that had come straight from the mouth of the Sigilate himself. **Something** so important, that they had diverted an entire Fleet for a handful of Marines, and that there was the **Problem**.

Even for an Ultramarine, Sigmund's obsession with Collecting and Processing Information would - at its best - be described as... 'Eccentric.'

He had agreed to join the **Chapter Librarium** , instead of being sent to the **Mechanicus** , for the simple reason that he would have gotten more Knowledge from **one** than the **other** (and the fact that he could read other people's minds may have been a minor contributing factor too… now that he thought about it). Even compared to the average Space Marine he was unnaturally **active**. He was always **actively** preparing, always **actively** training and always **actively** hunting down the enemy. He had prepared more Theoreticals and  Practicals than anyone else within the XIII, with the probable exception of Guilliman himself.

Without information, he couldn't properly prepare and there were only so-many times you could **dismantle** and **polish** your Bolter before you started losing the **fiddly bits** (like the Trigger or say... a shiny little **Firing-pin** ). Perhaps that was another reason why he wasn't sent to the **Tech Priests**. After the third ' **whoops** so that's were that went' they would have sent him back to his Chapter (probably in small neatly labelled individually packaged boxes).

Speaking of which… he slid the Receiver-Block into the gilded Housing of his modified **Phobos** **Pattern Bolter**. A rather **ingenious** design of his own devising that – to all but the most learned of observers – appeared no different from the Legion's Standard Pattern. A **Clever** Baffle design on the Receiver (made the Bolter far quieter), a revolutionary Bayonet-Screw configuration within the Housing (allowed the User – ie. Sigmund – to rapidly change the Barrel), and Two separate Hand-Crafted Barrels (a short standard Barrel and a Modified Suppressed "Stalker Bolter" Barrel) allowed for Greater Range and Versatility. Once all the weapons intricate pieces were in place he racked the Bolt, and reverently set down the empty weapon on his cot.

Now came the moment he had been dreading all night.

"Alright you ugly Bastards, up an' at 'em. The enemy ain't gonna kill 'emselves."

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy=+**

 **+=Transit to Chiron Relay=+**

 **+=Crew Deck=+**

 **+=Sleeping Pods=+**

 **+=[42.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[32.38.08 S.B.T.]=+**

 **+=[mark: - 28.12.01]=+**

* * *

Panic

Fear

Twilight

 _Darkness. Closeness. Can't Breath. Can't Hear. Can't see._

 _What is that deafening Boom. So Alone_.

 _Let me out._

 _ **Let me out**_ _._

 _ **LET ME OUT**_!

A lone pod cracked open, and a trembling small shape fell out.

Its breathing was ragged, its shoulders shaking violently.

It's most Haggard face, rocking from side to side.

In the Dim light, the figure stumbles upright.

The Face is bleak, haunted and drawn.

But the **Eyes** , the **Eyes** are different…

 **Those Eyes…**

 **They Burn…**

 **They Consume…**

An Emerald Flame, a Heart-Shaped Face, wreathed in a terrible crimson Halo of Blood.

But… ones gaze is always, always drawn back into those terrible burning **Eyes**.

On anyone else, those **eyes** would've foreshadowed a terrible **Madness**.

On anyone else, that Haunted **gaze** would prophesied **Oblivion**.

On anyone else, those **eyes** could only Foretell **Death**.

On Her…

Those Eyes…

Were Predatory…

Like a Drawn Bow, with fire hardened… lean sharp lines, her eyes bore their own Predatory Grace.

Those Eyes burnt, with a fierce determination – fiery and critical – always searching for weakness.

By the time one looks away from those Eyes, the Creature that crawled out of that Coffin is Gone.

The Being… no. The Woman… no. The Commander… Yes.

 **She** who would Command.

 **She** who would Lead.

 **She** whom legions would Follow.

Head up…

Eyes Forward…

Shoulders Back...

Movement precise, not even a single ounce of wasted energy, the absolute epitome of Military Precision.

And so ready to strike, Commander Jane Shepard marches into the Mess Hall to greet the Day.

* * *

 _God Damn Akuse_ , Shepard thought tiredly, once again wondering wearily if she'd ever get even a moment's peace from the memory of that God-Forsaken planet.

But despite her mental weariness from yet another troubled night, Jane Shepard marched into the empty galley area to grab a Cup of Coffee, with all the confidence of purpose that had been hammered into her over the years by numerous drill sergeants, Commanders and a certain English Captain.

 _So-far, so-good_ , the eternal optimist within her thought with a laugh as she spied an empty room ahead of her, _no annoying Turians, no wise-ass Pilots, and maybe – just maybe – I might escape the clutches of 'the Doctor from the Id.'_

So thinking herself lucky, Shepard snuck forward... round the table bolted into the floor, toward the stairs leading up to the CIC, thinking that maybe, just maybe, today she would-

"Commander Shepard," the herald of her Doom call out politely… that the 'Good Doctor' insisted upon politely announcing her presence from the shadows of the galley only heightened the Commanders dread, "I hope you had a pleasant evening?"

 _And so it begins_ , Shepard thought forlornly, taking once last look into her morning cup of not-quite-coffee before turning to face the Ships Chief Medical Officer.

"Good Morning Doctor," the groggy Alliance Marine began with fake cheerfulness, preparing the usual platitudes… the same ones she had given a thousand times before, "I had a nice and peaceful nap, a nice long night filled with deep **restful** sleep."

 _There… maybe if I say it enough times out-loud I'll actually start to believe it myself–_

"No Dreams?" queried the Doctor insistently.

* * *

 _No sound…_

 _Dim yellow fog…_

 _Hard Ground beneath her Feet…_

 _A_ _ **Shriek**_ _…_

 _Another one dies…_

 _They were running…_

 _The Ridge is so far away…_

 _Another_ _ **Shriek**_ _, another_ _ **Death**_ _…_

 _Again and again, screams, over and over…_

 _Thoughts, creeping, like_ _ **Ice**_ _…_

 _An_ _ **Eternity**_ _between each_ _ **Step**_ _…_

 _An_ _ **Age**_ _between each fevered_ _ **Breath**_ _…_

 _We're so Close…_

 _Almost... there…_

 _Just a bit Longer…_

 _ **Safe**_ _. We're Safe, we're_ _ **Alive**_ _._

 _She turns to face her squad, and…_

 _There's no-on there. She. Is. Alone._

 _All alone... so very alone..._

 _No._ _ **no**_ _._ _ **nonononono**_ _._ _ **Nooooo**_ _!_

 _They can't be. They can't be–_

* * *

Shepard snaps out of her waking Dreams, looking the Doctor in the Eye.

"No," she stated emotionless... mechanically, "No Dreams."

Doctor Chakwas looked quite sceptical at such a proclamation, but as a Medical Officer, she hadn't survived this long in the service without knowing **when** it was better to engage, and **when** it was better to withdraw.

"Okay, Commander. I'm here if you need me," Doctor Chakwas politely acknowledged, deciding that discretion was **certainly** the better part of Valour.

The Doctor returned to her own office, leaving the Commander to her internal... but above all... personal reflection. Every night she saw their faces, every **God-Damn** night she saw the Faces of every single **God-Damn** soldier under her Command... every single one them that had been on that **God-Damned** Doomed Patrol.

Every night for the last week...

It had been six months, six... **long**... peaceful blessed months without a single Flash-Back, and two months since she stopped twitching at the mere mention of that God-Forsaken **Planet** and those Hell spawned **Creatures**.

She had only on question then. And she had only one question now.

 **Why?**

 **Why** me?

 **Why** am I alive?

 **Why** did I survive?

 **Why** not those in Cover?

 **Why** not any of the Others?

The **Answer**... the answer that she had been given... time and time again, over and over, by an endless litany of faceless experts…by the Brass... by the Quacks that had signed off on every single one of her Evals... by every Doctor she'd ever seen since… that place…

Each and every one of them had been spewing the **Company Lie** … so god-damn much that even **they** probably believed the **Bullshit** they were peddling. They obviously believed that if they said **the lies** often enough, if they repeated them over and over, that she would eventually believe **the lies** too. That simply wasn't the case.

You want to know why?

 **Biotics**

 **Bullshit**.

Pure Grade-A Bullshit. There were... there are Adepts far **stronger** than her, Sentinels far **smarter** than her… and they died just like everybody else, and they expected her to believe that she survived solely **because** of her little... weak... Vanguard Barrier.

 **Bull** **…** **Shit**.

 **She** ran as fast as her legs could carry her, just like everyone **else**.

 **She** had the same basic shitty Equipment, just like everyone **else**.

So why wasn't **she** dead… just like everyone **else**.

' **Survivors Guilt** '… **they said**.

 **She** needed therapy **they said**.

It was all in **her** head **they said**.

 **Ha**.

PTSD Bullshit… **she** had **determined**.

She needed Answers… **she** had **determined**.

There was something very wrong with that mission **she** had **determined**.

 **They** threatened to Drum her out of the Alliance.

 **They** told her to stick to the **official line**.

 **They** ordered her to go see **their** therapists.

 **She** went to **their** therapy. It cost **them** three therapists.

Three therapists who were unable to confirm the **official diagnosis** given by the Brass.

Three therapist who couldn't believe the **official line** themselves, after **she** was done with them.

 **She** had stood on the edge... upon the very precipice of change, they were about to cast her out of the only life **she** had ever known… the only life she had ever wanted to live. **She** was poised to Leap off that ledge... down into the dark unknown Abyss, when **he**... had pulled her away from the brink. The **only** Officer to believe in **her** , in **his** eyes she saw that **he** carried the same inner pain within him, a pain **she** saw in her own eyes every time **she** looked in a god-damn Mirror. **He** stood up for her, **he** got her into the N7 Program, **he** built her back up from the pieces left behind on Akuze… **he** built her up from scratch... **he** had taken the time to fix her... again and again.

 **Together** they did good. **Together** they started to help people. **Together** they hunted down some Bad-Guys. **Together** they investigated Akuze. **Together** they tried to get the Brass to see the **Truth** – and when that failed – **Together** they went to Parliament.

In the end, all **they** did was erect a Memorial. It was a small victory... but a Victory none the less.

 _I guess that was to be expected_ , Shepard reflected sadly, _all we had was the Signal from a Missing Distress Beacon and a whole lot of unknown_. _Well at least Captain Anderson helped me find a small sliver of closure... or at least as close as I'll ever come to it_.

Shepard panned her gaze across the Galley Table, "well, since I'm here already, may as well catch a small bite to eat, bef–"

 **Commander to the Bridge. Commander to the Bridge**

"Grrr-… On my way Joker," she groaned exasperatedly.

 **Just following your Orders, Commander** Joker reported sardonically **and I quote, 'make sure I am there, when you need to do something important,' end quote. And since I have nothing better to do than being your over-worked under-paid PA, well** **…=**

"Noted Joker," stated the Commander sarcastically, "just remember I **would** kick your ass, if it didn't mean **so** much paperwork after the assault."

 **=Then I'll spend the rest of my life living in fear of the Brass eliminating the need for Paperwork... Commander=**

Shepard just shook her head, most of the time Joker was a Sarcastic Ass, and **occasionally** he cheered her up. And Hey, she **loved** watching him being a Sarcastic Ass at others, for all of the seventy-two hours she had known him.

She turned and marched toward the CIC, the last thing going through her mind at the Time was, _**at least**_ _that ass Nihlus hasn't found me yet_.

* * *

 **+=ImperialPalace=+**

 **+=Himalayas=+**

 **+=1** **st** **Archology=+**

 **+=Personal Chambers of Malcador the Sigillite=+**

 **+=[222.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[53.56.08]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 07.04.01]=+**

* * *

Beauty.

Frustration.

Solitude.

An **Enigmatic Smile**.

 **She** 's Happy.

 **She** 's Sad.

 **She** 's Melancholic.

So many views, so many differing opinions, so many theories for a Smile that is almost… but not quite there.

Ah... but then again He had always subscribed to the Theory that she had a little… **Secret**.

 **One** that was hers and hers Alone.

 **One** that she wasn't about to share with anyone.

 **One** … **Terrible little Secret** , behind that small Cheshire Cat Grin.

Just who was **she**?

Was she a young **Noble**?

Some wealthy Merchants **Mistress**?

He had heard many – oh… **so many** – theories on who she was, but only one man had ever given him something even close to a satisfactory **answer**. A man – who he had once met only briefly, but knew by reputation – a man once known as Kasper Hawser. Poor Kasper had once spoken to him about the painting, at great length, during some boring Charity Dinner that had been held by the Unification Council, one of many... a time that now felt so very long ago, but couldn't have been more than a handful of decades past. Poor Kasper, he never knew exactly to whom he had spoken, and then... quite suddenly... he decided to disappear into the Tundra. He had heard rumours of the strange Conservator joining the Sons of Russ on Fenris, as a Skajld (a "Story Teller", of all things).

His eyes returned to the Portrait. According to Kasper he and a few other Conservators had uncovered some ancient data stacks from the Catacombs of Neo Paris, with speculation (funnily enough, from a group of "Notable Historians of the Day") that the women in the portrait was actually a composite. She was the ideal of **pure beauty** , for the Artist anyway... an Artist whose name had lived on through the Millennia. He chuckled at that thought; her hair (while exquisitely curled) was mostly a dull plain brown, her dress was almost colourless and unflattering, and finally her face was almost **so** shapeless as to be described as completely androgynous. The only entrancing thing about her was that **smile** , oh… and her fringe was a bit wispy. Kasper had an **answer** for that **too** , it was incomplete. It was recovered from the side of the Artists' **Deathbed** by his Apprentice. He had spent decades on his masterpiece, never letting it go, never satisfied, always improving upon it... just a little bit at a time. A never-ending Work-in-Progress... that small little bit of his life's work that was undeniably his. Ah… he could understand the appeal, always creating something beautiful... something exquisite for the pleasure of others and never having anything to truly call your own.

 _There's an important_ _ **moral**_ _in there somewhere_ , he reflected soberly.

And then there was the restoration. The original frame had been damaged... almost beyond all hopes of recovery, blackened and burnt along the roughened edges. The sides of the Canvas, the very edges of the frame had retained a light brown tint. The new frame surmounted the burnt edges of the old, with a far darker Mahogany-Substitute grown on a world a million... million... light-years away. In the end it made the Portrait look that much… brighter.

The damage was perhaps prophesied by the painting itself, most people never saw beyond the subject, but the background could best be described as Cataclysmic. Rivers changing course, the ground splitting open and the sharp unforgiving mountains being cast down into the flooded Valleys far below. _**Poor Leonardo**_ , he was… a complex man, and probably a very misunderstood one too.

Malcador turned away from the ' **Mona Lisa** ', his eyes passing across the other treasures he kept in his personal chambers. From the almost pristine ' **Sunflowers** ' by Vincent Van Gogh, to his newly ( **relatively** ) acquired - and slightly worn - copy of " **The Complete Works of William Shakespeare** " – sitting safely in its thick glass case – **circa** Late Second Millennium sourced by his staff from the roving Techno-Tribes of Sycorax. His thoughts turned back; to another misunderstood man he once met.

 _Poor Kasper_ , the Sigillite thought sadly, _common wisdom – at the time you left – was that Shakespeare had only written three plays_.

He chuckled slightly; _we didn't even have any of his_ _Sonnets_ _back then_.

His routine morning contemplation done for the day, the **First Lord of Terra** turned back to his desk. With its almost-but-not-quite Mahogany Substitute and the beautifully crafted scaled green leather top. You couldn't see the desk top at the moment, under the mountains of neatly organised spires of paper. The desk itself was a gift from the **enigmatic** Vulkan, right down to its **pristine** cured-hand-tooled salamander leather. The paper, **well** … that was a 'gift' from everybody **else**.

Lying here and there he had numerous **Orders** for: Construction, Maintenance, Resupply, Recruitment, Reformation... Dissolution... Absolution. You name it, at one point, he had **ordered it**.

And in return (as if by some bizarre form etiquette) he got even more paperwork.

 **Requests** for: Confirmation, Clarification, Explanation, Extrapolation and more **god** **s** **-** **be-** **damned** Information.

The Imperial Truth may have made Atheism the Law of the Cosmos, but when a man whacks his thumb with a hammer… he does not blaspheme using the Laws of Physics.

But that was neither here nor there, everyone of these very politely worded 'requests' held the express intent of either **stalling** for time or trying to get him to change his mind. As if by some bizarre logic, the more ' **polite** ' the letters they sent, the more likely he was to change his position. The three parchment towers on the north-west quadrant of his desk – comprised entirely of **rejection** and **reconfirmation** letters – contradicting this strange belief quite **significantly**.

However it was to one of the smallest of wood-pulp towers that his eyes were drawn, for unlike the others it only consisted of about twenty pages, each one filled with neatly written hand-made notes. However... even a single one of these pages was more valuable than all the other pages on that desk... probably worth more than the Desk they rested upon, a desk gifted to him by a Primarch no less.

Those handful of pages were probably more important than any other single piece of paper in the entire Imperial Administratum. The small blank folder, sat like a tiny **outpost** – in a small paper-lined valley – between two large mountain ranges of preserved wood-pulp-analogue... that lone folder was absolutely **vital**. And for that reason, and that reason alone, he reached for the small - suspiciously unadorned - folder first, trying to do his best not to dislodge either of the two vast continents of paper on either side of it.

He opened the folder, and began to read, an act seemingly so **simple** and yet… completely unnecessary. In fact he didn't really need to read the documents held within that plain vanilla folder any-more, after so many weeks - so many months - the Sigillite had by now memorised nearly **every word** , **every fact**... **every figure**. The simple act of him holding these pages... elevated the information contained within beyond the realm of simple data, to the mythical plateau held only by the most dire of a **state-secrets**.

It would **amaze** the casual reader to discover that one of the greatest secrets within the Imperium was… just a short **List**... an inventory really. A list of ships, a list of supplies, a list of personnel, and a list of materials intended for colonisation of several small star-systems. And embossed on the Cover-sheet were four simple enigmatic words:

 **The Children of Moses**

The only **physical** record of said project in the entire Administratum... the only record of the project in the entire Galaxy. And what a record it was. The number of ships alone was **staggering** , even to a man like Malcador who had seen entire Legions go to war. Nearly a dozen Mars-Pattern Battle Cruisers, four truly leviathan Mechanicum vessels, three Legion Strike Cruisers and a recently launched **Battle Barge**. Two of the largest being; the (Mars-Pattern Battle Barge) "Requiem Meae Hostem" – which was currently on its maiden voyage – and the "Requiro Scientia" – a truly Ancient Ironclad Battleship that had been modified to house a small shipyard... and those were just to name a few, with more than fifty other non-combat vessels; mass conveyors, mass transports and even a shiny new mobile foundry added into the mix.

The list was probably best defined by the sheer amount of manpower alone involved in this endeavour. **Twenty-five** Solar-Auxilia Divisions, in addition to **Five** full Solar-Auxilia Armoured-Divisions, an entire Skitarii Legion of the Legio Cybernetica, more than **two dozen** Magos from nearly every enclave within the Mechanicum, nearly **two million** civilians and – amazingly – **Ten** full **Line-** **Companies –** nearly ten thousand of the super human giants – of the Thirteenth Legion with enough Legion Armour and Artillery to level an entire system a hundred times over.

And yet strangely **no-one** – not even Rogal Dorn himself – noticed their presence in orbit and by some exceedingly clever management, by the Sigillite **himself** no less, no-one ever would. The **entire** Expeditionary Fleet was spread across **three separate zones** within the Segmentum Solar, each several light-minutes apart. The Mechanicum Vessels and few Mass conveyors where holding in Orbit around **Mars**. The combined Naval and Civilian Fleets were held in Orbit above the Europa (Supra-Orbital) Plate above **Terra**. And the XIII Legion Vessels would rendezvous with their new Battle Barge above **Luna** , within... the Sigillite was actually tempted to check his time piece to be sure... but it was unnecessary, he had less than an hour. And in the end all of this activity – all this subterfuge – was lost within the massive shoal of Ships circling the cradle of Man... the birth-place of Humanity.

That sobering fact alone brought the Sigillite back to the matter **at** hand, or more precisely, **in** his hand. For what seemed the thousandth time, he examined the small unassuming **trinket** , which appeared (for all intents and purposes to the casual observer) to be a rather large ugly – and absolutely **archaic** looking – pocket-watch.

The circular face-plate of the medieval monstrosity had been intricately engraved – by hand – with the kind Imperial iconography that he had become blind to over the years, with three inset crown-like buttons along the rim of the device at the '12', '1' and '2' O'clock positions. As Malcador continued to examine the device, he flicked open the intricate face plate to reveal a deep swirling pool of **cerulean energy** that appeared through a portal comprised of five overlapping titanium – adamantium composite rings. Revealing that this device was in fact some sort of eldritch Warp-Tech.

In fact Malcador could feel the very energy which it trapped, battering away (quite **viciously** , almost with a life of its own) trying – desperately – to reach its most erstwhile of jailers.

His inspection – or introspection as it were – complete, the Sigillite returned to his chair and sat back down behind his desk, all the while contemplating the... purpose of the device in his hands. Its function; was to act like a **depth-charge** within the insane shifting oceans of the Warp. The Emperor imparted to his most trusted advisor but a portion, the merest glimpses of a **vision** he had **divined** , of one of an endless number of the... possible **Future** **s** to the **First Lord of Terra**.

The device would either **stabilise** the Warp, further securing the man-made sections of the Webway, or it would be the **Catalyst** of a **Storm** within the tumultuous Empyrean, that would last for **Generations**. And at the very centre... at the very eye of that Storm… lay **Terra** itself.

Haunted by the mere glimpses of Armageddon he had witnessed, Malcador returned his gaze to his desk, his eyes passing – with meticulous **measured precision** – over six titanium-plated scroll-like shapes that lay thereupon. Each scroll bore a unique stylised **Symbol** ; the initial four were similar as they bore a series of Roman numerals, the final two carried more... ' **unique** ' sigils.

The second to last scroll; was intricately embossed with a **Stylised Lighting Bolt** (ϟ) like symbol, and the final scroll was defined by a large Capital 'T' bisected by two thin diagonal lines(₮).The List and these six Scrolls were **two** of the most **critical** elements within their contingency plan.

Each scroll contained a delicate, but flexible crystalline wafer, which (under the right conditions) conducted and stored a significant amount of **Psykic Energy**. Stored within each of the Scrolls, was a unique – personalised – **Message** that would be passed directly into the mind of the **Recipient** – and they alone – upon contact with their scroll. The intent was that these scrolls would then be carried by a **Dormant Psyker**... a Psyker that would be in command of one of the two Legion Breacher Squads Malcador had summoned specifically for this Task.

A vital Task the Emperor had commanded him to see to... personally.

Their Task... to pass through the more recent – and man-made – sections of the Webway and on into the far more… **ancient** – and **alien** – segments of the Warp Gate Network.

That led Malcador's well ordered mind to the heavy... and possibly deadly... **Tasks** that lay ahead. The Emperor had given him only the most critical portions of his Visions well over a year ago, and while Malcador had not been privy to the Vision in its entirety... he had no idea... no conceivable idea at all, as to the consequences of his actions.

It terrifying him… but all he could do was trust his old friend... a man whose name had already been long forgotten... even by those closest to him.

The Emperor – his old friend – had foreseen all this... and had fashioned the Scrolls himself, entrusting them to the Sigilate for safe keeping...several months ago, long before he had even entrusted the Sigillite – his closest confidant – with the exact nature of his vision.

In the end: the Emperor would prepare the **Stage** , it was Malcadors part to assemble the **Players**.

Today was the day that he would bring them all together; the assembled **Army** , the **Fleet** and the **Messenger**.

It was during his musing of this fact that the doors at the entrance to his Chambers began to rumble, three heavy impacts reverberated through the vaulted room, one after the other. And a loud booming voice, from the other side of the large ornate blast-door to his Office, announced, "Fabius Durio of the Adaptus Custodies seeks an audience with the Sigillite."

 _Ah, and so it begins_ , thought Malcador wearily, as he prepared himself for what is to come.

"He may enter," declared Malcador solemnly, completing the ritual.

Ponderously... slowly... the doors swung open to reveal three massive figures in armour of burnished gold, each baring a helm capped by a tall plume of blood red horse hair. However it was to the centre-most figure – the tallest... the most ornate – that the Sigillites tired old eyes were drawn. The gilded giant carried his tall helm in the crook of his left-arm, leaving his head bare, and much like the other Custodians – both to his left and right – he carried a nine-foot long force halberd.

But that was not his only weapon... on an intricately carved belt, fastened around his waist, was a beautifully master-crafted rapier and upon his left vambrace a gilded **Storm Bolter** had been fastened.

"My Lord, Captain Tobias Braxton has assembled his Squads as you requested... my team is prepared to escort you to the Armoury for the Briefing," informed Durio the Head of his personal security detail.

Malcador inclined his head toward Durio in agreement; as he reached for a small satchel with a long strap sitting next to his desk. It was the work of but a moment to place the Warp Device and Scrolls within its dark leather confines. With a weary sigh, he stood up from his padded arm-chair and walked around his desk, overflowing with needless paperwork... after a moments contemplation, he extended his right-hand. The air in the Chamber began to crackle as a **charged atmosphere** filled the space, as energy **arched** around his weathered hand… and **earthed** itself within his gnarled fingers. Suddenly… without warning a **Loud Sharp Crack** followed by the smell of **Ozone** … a long Eagle Topped Staff appeared mere inches, from his hand. And as if by magic, as the Staff came into contact with his outstretched palm, a cloud of billowing **Amber Flames** erupted along the Wings of the Double-Headed Imperial Eagle. Casting a strange eldritch glow about the red robed figure of the Sigillite, and **strangely dimming** the rest of the chamber. Casting shadows where none were before...

"Let us Begin," commanded the Sigillite with surety and finality, as the First Lord of Terra marched past the Custodians that stood at the Threshold of his Chambers, and onward into **History**.

* * *

 **+=Arach-Qin Craftworld=+**

 **Location Unknown**

 **+=Dome of the Crystal Seers=+**

 **+=A rather comfy Tree-Stump=+**

 **+=[221.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[12.51.23]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 48.08.10]=+**

* * *

Transcendence.

Reflection.

Introspection.

Thought and Energy…

Ethereal and Fleeting…

Yet… Tangible and Structured…

Outwards and Onwards…

Reaching and Touching…

Always… Feeling and Experiencing…

And… Return.

Back… Return.

Toward… Return.

Her… Return.

Body…Return.

Descending from the ecstatic heights of her **Vision Quest** deep within the long twisting memories of the Infinity Circuit, the Seer – whom sat quiet comfortably on her own little Wraith-Bone Stump it the crystalline garden – once again opened her physical eyes to the world around her. But even once her mind returned to its painfully small physical shell, she still held onto the new minds that touched the weathered Wraith-Bone of her Craftworlds Infinity Circuit.

Though to be honest, touching their minds with hers still felt... different.

Their thoughts were something new and exotic... it all felt so... indulgent... overwhelming... from the **stoic** and structured minds of the Warlocks and Black Guardians of **Ulthwe** , to the strange yet **esoteric** thoughts of the Spirit-Seers of **Lugganath** (and the ever **Youthful** high-spirits of their **Harlequin** allies), to the always **sorrowful** thoughts of the Howling Banshees of **Iybraesil** and their ever present Farseer Guides, to the more subtle and intricate thoughts of the talented Bone-Singers of the **Il-Kaithe**... they were always the most gentle of minds.

 **New** thoughts, **new** memories, and above all **new** perspectives, but sadly… they were always so... **Sombre** , even compared to the dark and morbid humour of the Denizens of her own Craftworld.

But now was not the time for such thoughts, so the Seer allowed her Witch-Sight to recede back into the confines of her own mind, and let the ethereal beauty of the **Crystal Garden** to fill her vision in its entirety.

As always upon her return to the mortal-plain, the Seer paused to take in the beauty of her surroundings; she sat upon a small white desiccated stump of a once mighty crystal-tree, still garbed in a dark skin-tight under-suit, and resting upon her shoulders was a white sleeveless tunic – reminiscent of a neo-Classical Japanese-style-Haori – embroidered with thin silvery – seemingly alive – eldritch runes. Her appearance in the seemingly indeterminate – yet almost perpetual – **twilight** that permeated the ancient **Garden**. A twilight that seemed to permeate most – if not all – of the Dark Craftworld.

Her people had an affinity for darkness, and unlike the rest of her wayward kin spread across the Cosmos, her people didn't fear it. Their enemies on the other hand… well the Denizens of the Arach-Qin Craftworld... they weren't just another terror that lurked in the Darkness.

They were the laughing terror...

They were of the Twilight...

They were the Children...

Of History...

And as the Seer sat upon her Stump... a strange-silvery white thing which sat in the middle of a smooth strangely flat disc of silver, right in the very heart of a clearing deep within the Dome of Crystal Seers, she began to contemplate the beautiful – snow white of the Wraith-Bone Trees, which were nestled among a multitude of transparent psycho-reactive Crystals – these strange plants were all that remained of the native flora of the long **lost** Eldar Home-Worlds... the doomed **Crone-Worlds**.

Thus inclined, the Seer turned her thoughts back – and inwards – to the very Wraith-Bone Stump upon which she sat, contemplating its own Dark and Bloody history. She delved deeper, and further, into the **Memory** given to her by the most ancient souls within the **Infinity Circuit** , than she dared to before... seeking to understand... to remember…

* * *

Before this very stump, at the very Sunset of the Eldar... during the **Fall** so very long ago, a monumental duel was fought by two Titanic Psykers... a duel to decide the Fate of the entire Craftworld. The Captain and his Officers – who had long since Fallen to the vile corruption of Chaos – wanted to turn Corsair and pillage 'n plunder across the pristine **Maiden-Worlds** that sat upon the very edge of the Galaxy. Appalled and horrified by cruel and twisted plans of the Corrupted Command Crew, the Leader of the Warrior Guardians – those charged with defending the Craftworld from all that would harm it – choose to betray his twisted 'superiors'. In secret he gathered his most Loyal Lieutenants, though out-numbered and out-matched, they began a **Shadow** -Campaign against the twisted Eldar Cultists.

They **Murdered** the mutated Bridge-Crew in their sleep…

They **Slaughtered** the twisted Chaos-Sorcerers as they meditated…

They **Hunted** down Bone-Singers repairing their deliberate acts of Sabotage…

 **Unseen…**

 **Unheard…**

 **Unknown…**

They 'Guarded' their dark masters – **faithfully** – during the day…

And they slipped a blade between their ribs, at night while they slept…

After **months** of planning…

After **years** of skulduggery…

After **nearly** a decade of woe…

Finally… their prey was **weakened** …

Their fell numbers were **culled** back…

And finally the time had come… to **Strike** …

And in a move that would become synonymous with their Craftworld, the **Hunters** of the Arach-Qin began to lay the **Final Snare** for their Cultist Prey…

It began with a small uprising in the lower levels… a few missing cultist Bone-Singers here and there… a loss of communication between the head and the rest of the **Snake** …

And they played right into their hands, ordering their ' **Loyal** ' Bodyguards to barricade themselves into the Command Spire.

Fear and Panic… **Perfect**.

The Farseer chuckled at the sense of **Satisfaction** the Souls within the Infinity Circuit imbued this very **moment**... the moment of their greatest triumph... for the Souls within the Craftworld, this was the greatest of their collective memories. This very moment was of immense importance... it would shape the **Culture** of their Craftworld for millennia to come. It was one of the **First Memories** they were shown as Children, and it was often one of the **Last Memories** they would Dream of… as their Souls were drawn into the **Wraith-Bone** of the Infinity Circuit.

Thus imbued... her mind returned back to the **Memory** of the **First Hunters** , and the epic vision of the **First Great Hunt**. Stranded in the dark with their apparently 'Loyal' Guards... deep within the Spire above the Dome of the Crystal-Seers, they were alone... trapped and fearful… _**Easy Prey**_. The Cultists demanded that their guards do something…

Protect **them** …

Defend **them** …

Save **them** …

So they lead their ' **Charges** ' toward ' **Safety** ' through the ' **Secure** ' Wraith-Bone Gardens around the base of the Command Spire… and right into a very **well-prepared** ambush, at the time they outnumbered the Cultists nearly _**Fifty-to-one**_. And then the trap snapped **closed**. Before they could react. Half of the Cultists had been **cut-down** … By their own Guards…The rest… **fell** within moments.

In an act of frightened desperation the mutated Captain tried to **flee**.

Back toward the centre of the Dome.

He tried to grasp what **little** control he still had…

He tried to summon his 'faithful' warriors...

And when that failed he began a Ritual to Summon forth…

Something Dark...

No-one would ever know what he wish to bring forth... within moments...

The **Twisted** …

 **Broken...**

 **Sickening Energies** … swept forth.

The once-noble Eldar Captain at the very centre of this Maelstrom of Corruption... of Darkness.

His form… **twisted** … **broken** …by the Energies raging beyond his control…

Into this swirl of twisting warp energies…

Ran the Leader of the Hunters…

Chasing after his **prey** …

Seeing what remained of Corrupted Captain…

Within the Chaos that he had **Wrought** …

Realising what he'd tried to do…

In his desperation, he tried…

Seeing his followers…

Falling… Dying…

He **Struck** …

Summoning his pure **Will** , filling his weapon with **Intent** …

He drew back his Wraith-Bone Halberd, **summoning** …

And cast it through the remains of the **once-eldar** …

The Halberd passed through, striking the Tree…

The energy, **disrupted** , arched into the Tree…

The intent of the ritual… **gone** , destroyed…

The energy turned on those around it…

Arching, between, along, though…

Touching, grasping, tearing…

Burning, Breaking…

 **Destroying** …

The resulting destruction viciously obliterated everything within twenty feet of the tree. The destruction left nothing behind... not even the faintest of presences – of their passing – within the Warp… a perfect Circle… a dead-zone... a Null-zone…

No Life… No Energy… **Nothing** …

Of the **Captain** and the **Guardian** … nothing remained… and for those cultists whose souls were drawn into the Infinity Circuit…

Retribution was swift and Terrible... for those Dark Creatures within the Hallow Halls of their ancestors.

Their Dark and Corrupted Souls were torn apart by the Pure Souls within the Craftworld.

* * *

As that final terrible moment played out... the Seer trembled, and struggled not to break-down as she lived through those Memories. She took comfort in the knowledge that their deaths had served a higher purpose, that their most ultimate of sacrifices had **freed** the Craftworld of the corrupting influence of Chaos. Even the Stump had it uses… allowing for even the **weakest** of Seers to gaze – without any interference – deep into the very **Fabric** of the **Universe**. It sat **removed** from the Light, the Darkness… and **everything** in-between… an island of **emptiness**... deep within a Chaotic sea of **emotion**.

* * *

But even as she sat upon the Stump... at the centre of the Void… no Eldar could have hoped to escape the Chaos that had followed. For what followed was nought but **Darkness** … **Chaotic** and **Bleak** … for the Denizens within the Craftworld of the Arach-Qin.

For they were Lost in **Deep Space** …

Unable to repair their **Engines** …

Or navigate the **Webway** …

So they turned **Inward** …

By the time they were found, by a pair lone **Rangers** (of the Craftworld Ulthwe strangely enough)…more than a Century had passed… within the darkness... they had **Lost** so~o much.

What the Rangers brought them… was **Purpose**.

What the Rangers brought them… was a **Future**.

What the Rangers brought them… was the **Ai'elethra**.

 **The Eldar Path** …

It was from these **Rangers** … from these **Outcasts** … that the very **Soul** of the **Craftworld** was reborn anew… and it was from these **Outcasts** that their new path was found.

Drawn out of the **Collective** memories of her people…

Drawn back to body, and into the **Material Plain** …

She began to draw a finger, along her Shoulder…

Along the Guard, and over the **Eye of Isha** …

Across the **Broken Sword of Khaine** …

And finally taking her time to draw…

A finger around the **Lone Rune** …

The Rune of Cegorath…

 **The Laughing God** …

The **Eye** Surmounted the **Sword** …

And the **Laughing Rune** sat…

Etched onto the Blade…

All these Symbols stark white, against a black background.

And invisible… hidden within that **Darkness** …

Unseen… to all but those whom knew…

Engraved… faintly, within the Dark…

Was the **Rune of the Outcast** …

The **Memories** behind that **Rune** , brought an almost imperceptible smile to her Sculpted Lips. Within her own mind, the Seer **laughed** , joyous and full… at the **Memories** given to her by the Souls within the Wraith-Bone. She remembered with joy... with laughter... as she was taken back… far back… back to the **Arrival** of the **Phoenix Lords**. They brought their **Teachings** and their **Shrines** , and they spoke – oh-so… _ **pompously**_ – of the various grand paths they had discovered. They spoke of the new ways of the reborn Eldar. And the people had _**laughed**_ … she smiled at the **Memory** , a fond memory that had **Angered** the ' _ **Oh-so**_ ' _**mighty**_ Phoenix Lords.

In the face of their **Anger** , not a single one of her people had bent… not a solitary sole had **broken** under their Fury. They didn't **flinch** … they didn't **falter** , they stood their ground and stared down, the ' _ **Oh-so**_ ' mighty Lords of rebirth and renewal. And for a time it seemed they would come to blows... until... from within the crowds of Outcasts strode a small **Child**. She strode boldly toward those **Mighty Beings** , clad in their imposing Wraith-Bone armours .And **She** spoke unto them, in that honest way that only children can... with tone of childish arrogance that easily pierced through the **Veils Power** …

"If your Shrines give us **Strength** … We will Praise You… And if they don't…"

She Smile up at them, confusing them so.

"We will **laugh** … and our laughter will **haunt** you… until the Stars grow old… and **Die** …"

And so the **Aspect Shrines** were founded within their Twilight Craftworld. And the fortunes of the Shrines – over time – rose and fell… upon the mercurial – almost whimsical – **moods** of the denizens of the Arach-Qin. The largest of these Shrines, had long since become known as the **Trinity** , they were; the **Strike Scorpions** , the **Shadow Spectres** , and the **Dire Avengers**. And from each of these far **Greater** Aspect Shrines… a **Lesser** …far more specialised Shrine would arise. From within the Aspect Shrine of the **Striking Scorpions** , many female warriors would move onto the Aspect of the **Howling Banshee** , and a few warriors from within the **Shadow Warriors** Aspect would transition almost seamlessly into the Aspect of the **Dark Reaper**. Only the Shrine of the **Dire Avengers** Aspect stood alone, for none knew where their Lesser-Aspect the **Warp Spiders** had hidden their Shadowy Shrine. It was said that deep within their Shrine, in a place known only to a select few... hidden… deep within the Wraithbone... slept the long **Lost** and almost **Forgotten Phoenix Lord** of their Aspect. The **Guardians** of the **Wraith-Bone** , had always been purposefully mysterious, and –

* * *

An **intrusion** … an unfamiliar presence… within the Crystalline Gardens.

Farseer Idranel… withdrew from her **Vision Quest**.

 **Shielding** her mind with well practiced ease.

 **Preparing** her defences, against…

The mental probing of…

A **dangerous** –

 _ **Illic**_ , she groused mentally, _has he nothing better to do than hound me and waste what little time we still have..._

Her memories turned back to the series of events that lead to the arrival of the – **rather annoying** and – outspoken **Warlock** from **Ulthwe** , and the other refugees. She thought back, into her **own** memories, to the events that led her people and a few desperate others…

Into a headlong **flight** … into a brave **New Galaxy** …

* * *

 **Codex Entry: The Shepard**

… **As time would pass, and as I realised what I was becoming, I began to reflect upon my place in the Universe. Not who I was, not where I began, nor even what I had done. But how I had touched the lives of those around me. Paraphrasing the well worn phrase of a well-known Asari mystic, "every idea must touch another to live, every emotion must be shared with another to grow."**

 **It is not arrogant to say that I was crucial to events of things to come. It would be arrogant to say that I did it alone. I may have been the one to interface with the Prothean Beacon… But without my Squad... I wouldn't have gotten to the Beacon at all.**

 **(An extract from "The Man I Once Knew," by LiaraT'Soni. Biographer for Commander Jane Shepard (Spectre Ret.))**

* * *

 **This Rewrite has been a LONG time coming.**

 **Various things have led me to this point. Personal. Professional. External forces. Internal Debates.**

 **Suffice to say, it's been awhile. Many things have delayed this rewrite, from a file full of plot bunnies, to at least another half a dozen half written, half thought out, half baked stories half of which I have written but not typed up as of yet.**

 **Another factor has been the ever changing universe of Warhammer 40K. From the latest strategy games (like Gothic Armada), to the first person shooters (Warhammer Space Marine for one), to the latest Horus Heresy Rule Books (this has been the most influential).**

 **You will see over the next few Chapters a change in the story dynamic, for example: Sigmunds Bolter, the Phobos Pattern was the standard issue for the Ultramarines Legion at the time of the Horus Heresy (there were also a few Tigris Patterns, and even an Umbra here and there), as far as I can tell the Godwin Pattern is a later development (possibly related to the Blood Angels Baal Pattern).**

 **My writing has also improved since my first foray, and I hope that is reflected by this work. As part of that I will be uploading the rewrite under the same name, and I will be leaving the old version up as well (a little comparison to what it was to what it has become).**

 **To all those who have Followed me I thank you.**

 **To all those who have Reviewed (Good & Bad) I'm sorry. I haven't read your reviews.**

 **To all those who are reading this for the first time, the journey has just begun.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Date Published:23/09/2013**

 **Date Re-Edited:07/12/2016**

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **\- Departure -**

* * *

 **+=Imperial Palace=+**

 **+=Himalayas=+**

 **Classified**

 **+=Armoury=+**

 **+=[222.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[22.58.08]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 38.01.01]=+**

* * *

Preparation.

Information.

Embarkation.

Gauntlets. Check.

Vanbraces. Check.

Elbow-guards. Check.

Upper-arms. Check.

Pauldrons. Check.

Chest-plate. Check.

Belt-plate. Check.

Thigh-guards. Check.

Knee-guards. Check.

Greaves. Check.

Mag-Boots. Check.

Respirator… Check.

And finally...

Helm… Check.

He placed his Helm on his head, and began the activation protocols…

* * *

 **+=Retinal Command Interface:** **Active**

 **+=Calibrating Reticule:** **Optimised**

 **+=Running Diagnostic:** **Active**

 **+=Black Carapace Linkage:** **Active**

 **+=Medical Diagnostic Suite:** **Active**

 **+=Mind Impulse Unit:** **Optimised**

 **+=Automated Fibre Reweaving:** **Active**

 **+=Artificial Muscle Fibre Bundles:** **Calibrating** **… =+**

* * *

The muscle-fibre bundle under-suit contracted around him, squeezing him uncomfortably... before settling against his flesh like a second skin. Mere moments later, he felt a chill run down his spine as if his veins had been filled with ice... the human mind was not made to comprehend the... intrusion of a neural interface, and each mind processed it differently. In fact, after the first few moments of discomfort it was quite–

"Squad, About… Turn," commanded Sergeant Braellen declared suddenly from his place on the far right of the Armoury, "Check… Marine."

Snapped out of his musings, Sigmund rotated a hundred-and-eighty degrees, and began a check on Bother Julius, the Battle-Brother across from him, carefully running his gauntleted hands over the freshly painted Maximus-Pattern Power Armour of the man – the Astartes – opposite him. The Mark IV was a mainstay of the Thirteenth, nearly ninety percent of its Legionnaires were outfitted with the Pattern, with the rare exception of a handful of **Cataphractii Pattern Tactical Dreadnaught Armour** , and a few hundred older Mark III's.

Sigmund's Squad had been one of the last still using the old Void Hardened Mark III's – the Sergeant's Artificer Armour was based off of the same Pattern – as part of their redeployment they had been reissued the newer Mark IV (the Maximus)... well most of them. Many of his Brothers had been sad to see the old Armour go, ah... but change was life. And change was motion... Sigmund wasn't the only to jump to at Sergeant Braellen's command: each and every other Brother within the Armoury, in some strange yet well choreographed ballet, turned in unison to do the same as the Sigmund. They checked where the other Marine couldn't; his pack, the cables running from the back of his helm, and for any exposed connections running along the rear of his Armour.

"Squad, About… Turn," ordered the Sergeant once again, "Check… Marine."

He stopped checking Brother Julius, and turned back to his own locker, as the Marine behind him began to check over his armour in turn; his pack, the partial scabbard for his two-and-half handed Nemesis Power-Sword, and his whitish-grey wolf-fur cloak bundled bellow his pack.

"About… Face," commanded the Sergeant one final time, "Weapons… Check."

And so Sigmund, along with every other Marine in the Arming Chamber began to check their own equipment one final time…

He started with his weapons and ammo.

He checked the two melta-charges on his belt, the firing pins were secure and the seals on the primer unbroken.

He checked each of the six grenades he had been issued with and loaded them into his grenade-dispenser (located within his pack).

He checked each of the ten, thirty round, magazines he had requisitioned and then carefully loaded them into his ammo-dispenser.

He paused… and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed a further two more Mags (of Kraken Penetrator Rounds this time) and casually mag-locked them to his left thigh. The system was relatively new... its complexity prevented its wide-spread use... many simply preferred leather holsters or ammo-pouches... but in Sigmund's mind and those of a growing number of Tech-Marines within the Chapter the Mag-Lock-System certainly had its merits.

He grabbed his modified Stalker-Pattern Barrel and a spare Standard-Bolter Barrel, and also mag-locked them to his armour, this time on the upper right-leg plate.

He picked up his bolter, and examined the M40 Targeting System, once certain it was in working order he then mag-locked the bolter to his right arm.

He then picked up his Nemesis blade, its name carved along the flat-of-the-blade in runic script... he had named it, " **Sorrowmourn**."

 _ **At the time it had seemed fitting...**_

He examined it; hefted its weight, and tested the dark brown leather grip, both above and below the guard.

He checked each of the intricate runes that he had carved along the flat of the blade, careful cleaning away even a hint of any dirt or grime.

Finally he flicked the activation rune. The blade began to glow a cold ethereal blue... pulsing threateningly, even through his armour he could feel a deep bone-chilling cold emanating from the deadly foe blade, a biting cold which managed to permeate even the furthest corners of the room... though not one of his Brothers ceased their preparation, nor gave voice to the sudden chill.

Satisfied that all was in order, Sigmund deactivated the blade, and clipped it onto his back – next to his pack – the smart-material of its partial scabbard closing around the blade securing it tightly in place... yet another innovation that had yet to take hold within the Legion.

Last – but by no means least – was his Boarding Shield. Seven feet high, and nearly four across... it's surface painted black to show his Veteran status, the gold trimmings and badges to show his Rank as a Sergeant. The massive tower shield, with more than five inches of Plasteel and Ceramite was proof against nearly all foes within Imperium Space – and without – and had served the Sergeant well for the last two decades within the hazardous realm of the Legion Breacher Squad. Ah but such thoughts were for another time; Sigmund quickly checked the remote uplink for the Shield's built-in High-Gain Multi-Spectrum Optic, it was functioning well within the necessary parameters... all the Shield's straps and handles were in working order as well, the interior of the Shield held a list of all his 'Oaths of the Moment', a practise that most Breachers within the Legion adhered to.

His own preparations complete... Sigmund turned back to his own squad, to observe their final preparations. Merrik was busy changing out the old power-cell of his Plasma Rifle, he had already mag-locked his Tigris Pattern Bolt-Pistol to his right-leg as well as a shiny new Chainsword on his hip, his own boarding Shield was resting against a nearby locker. Greavus – the Squads Devastator – was in the process of racking the stubby bolt of his Heavy Bolter, the **clack-clack** of its receiver echoed through the rockcrete arming chamber... with a final **clack** he released the bolt seemingly satisfied with the sound, due to the rigors of carrying such a large support weapon the Devastator carried no shield. Gaius was behind him checking the dull-grey belt-feed on Greavus's large ammo-pack, while Julius stood to the side observing… **him**.

Sigmund ignored the Fool, as he turned his attention back to the rest of his squad. Techmarine Delaphor (in his personalised blood red Artificer Armour) was quickly utilising the multi-jointed dendrites, attached to his armature, to run a final diagnostic on Vespasian's Las-Cannon. And Grammaticus… the old terran-born Apothecary (in his shiny white regulation Apothecary armour) was running a final diagnostic on his complex Narthecium which lay in his armoured lap, his own shield resting against his knee. Sigmund could find no fault with any of them, so he turned his attention back to Julius.

The Marine was still glaring at him, he was quite blatant in his display, and in turn Sigmund stared back as impassive as possible, all it seemed to do was make Brother Julius even more angry.

Julius was one of the newer breeds of Legionnaire; he had been recruited late in the Crusade, from a – **Pious** – evangelical community on Calth. His family had believed quite fanatically in the _**divinity**_ of the Emperor, and his induction into one of the grandest of Imperial Legions just reaffirmed that self same aggrandising piety even further. When the Judgement of Nikea had come down from the Emperor himself, that piety had soured from outright worship of the Emperor...into a terrible righteous **Hatred** of the Psyker... of the Mutant... of the 'Unclean' as the Preachers had started calling them. And since his Sergeant had been a – former – member of the Librarium, Julius's hatred was now focused squarely on the nearest and most easily accessible target…. Sergeant **Sigmund**.

Julius had requested Command to allow him to be inducted into the Order of Chaplains, he believed such an honour would benefit the Legion... the Order did not agree. They saw their purpose... to select, to shape, to train... the next generation of the Legion as Sacrosanct... or as Holy as a the most powerful people within the ever more Atheistic Imperium could be. Sigmund could still vividly remembered reading their blunt response (in the Brother Julius's Service data-file)…

* * *

 **+=Your hatred has poisoned your mind. If given any form of authority, such as a Chaplaincy, your prejudices would poison the Hearts and Minds of those you whose futures you would shape. Until you can reason with a Clear and Rational Mind, one unencumbered by years of prejudice, you will not…=+**

* * *

Not surprisingly, the Pious Marine hadn't taken it well.

He had been **angry** , he had been **upset** , and then... paradoxically he had become very **quiet**. But what had disturbed poor old Sigmund the most wasn't the rapid mood swings, no...it was the speed with which it all took place, within **five minutes** Julius had been left staring blankly at the scuffed deck-plating beneath his feet.

 _At first_ , _I had thought the rejection had been good for him... perhaps it would teach the man humility, I had thought. Boy was I wrong_.

Within a week, the pious twit had come to quite the grandiose conclusion.

This – the position he was in now – this was his **destiny** … he was destined to watch the Psyker from within... to guard the Legion from all threats internal. What it translated to – in the real world – was an inordinate amount of glaring at his Superior Officer... whenever the Pious Fool had nothing better to do… and quite frankly _ **even when he did**_. He never outright disobeyed any of the Sergeants orders, however he did question every order he was given... and most tellingly he reported nearly all of the Sergeants actions. Much to Sigmund's annoyance and the growing chagrin of his superiors.

 _A single individual whose personality embodies both a malignant_ _ **narcissism**_ _and fervent religious_ _ **hatred**_ _… what could possibly go wrong_ , thought Sigmund sarcastically to himself as he started checking his Bolter for non-existent flaws, _I'll have to have him transferred... eventually, maybe spending the next decade guarding a door on some desolate little rock, would teach the twit some hu-_

 **Footsteps**.

Both he and Julius turned to the Archway, toward the only entrance into the Armoury.

As they listened earnestly, the Footsteps only grew louder.

 _Three… no four individuals_ , Sigmund muttered to himself as he analysed the sound.

No-one other than a being with super-human senses, like that which a Space Marine possessed, could have heard... let alone perceived such unnaturally quiet footsteps. And only someone with the (relatively) peerless training of the Astartes Legions, could have discerned the difference between the almost-but-not-quite-there footfalls.

In moments the quartet of silent footfalls reached a crescendo, and a lone gilded figure crossed the open threshold into the Armoury. The figure, with his high peaked-helm stood taller than most of the Marines within the Armoury. With the exception of Sigmund who (at nearly nine feet) could – quite easily – look the Custodian in the eye. The lone Custodian scanned the room, seemingly satisfied with what he saw... he then stood aside allowing another two Custodians to enter the small vaulted chamber.

It was at that point that he felt… **it**.

The **charged** taste of Ozone tingling across his tongue…

The Taste of Warp-Energy **burning**... scorching the very Air he breathed…

The burning smell of the warp **arching** angrily from place to place… person to person...

Unconsciously...

His mind began to **reach** out, toward the stream of energy…

His eyes began to **see** beyond what mere mortals could hope to witness…

The beat of his hearts, **quickening** , as his body readied for the flow of power…

All he had to do was **grasp** it, and–

 **No**

A Judgment had been **passed**.

He had **sworn** a binding Oath.

 **He wouldn't** give into temptation.

 **He wouldn't...**

 **He** chained the thirst, with shackles made of **pure Will**.

 **He** lashed out at the beast, driving it _**back into its Cage**_.

 **He** cowed the animal into **retreat** , deeper into his Subconscious.

And Lo... Logic once again **reigned** within the well ordered halls of his mind, as the vaunted Tactical and Analytical Savant rose to the surface of his meticulous Mindscape... taking control from his floundering emotions... his desires... to answer a question that just had to be asked...

 _ **Who**_ _was it that he felt…?_

The glided walls of Titanium parted... and from the valley between the glimmering Custodians, a small – almost diminutive – figure entered the Armoury, dwarfed by the giants that stood to his left and right, yet still exuding an almost palpable sense of… **Power**. No... that wasn't exactly true... Sigmund could feel the very Warp flowing through the man. The energy flowed outwards... through the room, the burning filaments dimmed in their wrought-iron fixtures, and throughout the Armoury... an aura of mystery seemed to envelop all those present. The mysterious hooded figure carried a staff, bearing the vaunted Double-Headed Imperial Eagle, from which a cold eldritch flame flowed; and even as intentionally blind as he was trying to be, Sigmund could feel the Warp itself **bleeding** through the Staff – into the small chamber.

 _ **Theoretical**_ _ **:**_ _Warp Sorcery_ , his mind analysed, _the staff is the focal point._ _ **Practical**_ _ **:**_ _remove it and the threat is neu-_

He winced... his mind flinching from the very thought of how simple such violence had come to him, allowing but a trickle of his own carefully cultivated emotions to gradually seep back in.

 _Wait… analyse the_ _ **figure**_ _,_ an older... darker... more deeper seated... more primal part of his consciousness hissed from the dark recesses of his mind, as his savant-like portions of his brain quickly compiled a list of the countless observations he had gleamed from the figures sudden appearance, and what little he could determine of the... man's... apparent abilities.

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Warp Energy present._

 _Reddish-Brown Robes._

 _Tubes at the Throat (Bionics?)._

 _Brown Satchel._

 _Eagle Topped Staff._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _What does this Tell us?_

 _He is a Psyker either Astropath or a Navigator._

 _The Robes, Administatum._

 _The Bionics, indicative of Life-Extending treatments, expensive._

 _The Satchel, tells me nothing._

 _The Staff, it bears the Eagle, only the most favoured Adepts could even possess it._

 _Altogether that means that this is… ah… the Sigillite himself_ , the analytical persona, of the Sergeant, mentally concluded at last.

And most surprisingly of all... all of these thoughts... all of this rapid fast paced mental acuity, passed through the labyrinthine halls of his psyche, all within the infinitesimal space between but a **single** beat of his Hearts.

* * *

Upon his entrance into the Armoury, Malcador found... a strangely... unsettling scene.

The Marines present were studiously all maintaining their gear, all seemingly quite entranced with their... equipment... so much so that it all felt quite... worrying.

All but two...

And these two remaining Marines happened to be standing, right in his path, facing the plas-crete bunker-like entrance to the Armoury. The younger of the two... was standing to the right, his eyes... hidden behind his standard blue Maximus Pattern helm, did little to betray his calm icy exterior. And to anyone else that may have been true...

But Malcador wasn't just any man... with but a trickle of power into his Warp-Sight he could peel back the layers of Ceramite that made up the Maximus Pattern Helm, and gaze upon the young man's viciously twisted face...

His name... Malcador didn't know, nor did he care find out... it was his eyes that captured the Sigillites focus. They were filled with an almost virulent disgust as they roved between his stately personage and the final Marine... who was standing quite rigidly to his left, back ramrod straight... his helm lying forgotten at his feet.

The other Marine... the Final Marine was… quite **surprising** to say the least. Even trapped as they were within the bounds of real-space, the Sigillite witnessed with his own eyes... his physical senses... as several twisting streams of energy ran along the Astartes intricately carved armoured plates, the eldritch sigils and innumerable swirling lines of runes seemed to… **move** – to writhe across the Ceramite plates of his armour with seemingly a life of their own.

It was however, through his 'Third-Eye' – his **Witch-Sight** – that the Sigillite saw... true power... and an astounding level of control... it amazed him... and it humbled him. The man's very soul was wrapped securely within a web of **silvery chains**... each and every link seemed to flicker in and out of existence... it came as a shock to the Sigillite as he realised that they had to have been forged from pure willpower... as anything else would have clearly violated the Oath the Sergeant had taken after the Edict of Nikea. And these wispy ethereal chains held all of his powers – his terrible reality warping abilities – in check, even as the ambient energy... from the Sigillite... from the warp-energy roiling off his staff... it held all of it in check, even as all that energy tried to earth itself into the nearest available conduct asides from the First Lord of Terra... the most unfortunate Marine standing before him.

 _Ahh…,_ Malcador thought curiously, _so this must be Sigmund._

With a flex of his metaphorical muscles, the Sigillite tightened his ethereal hold on the similar – but far smaller – silvery-chains shackling his **own** power, in the process siphoning the ambient energy flowing from his staff back in on itself... and within moments the errant warp energy suffusing the room, simply... drained away.

And with it went the tension in the poor Sergeant's armoured shoulders, it too simply bled away as they sagged with the confines of the armoured plate... without the temptation of the Warp he could finally – at least for now – breathe that tiny little bit easier.

Anyone else... anyone of lesser fortitude... when confronted with such... **temptation**... would've quickly forsaken their **Oaths** long before he had even entered the _**room**_. The Emperor had asked for this... Man... this Marine, by name, and – by Terra – Malcador (as his Reagent and Harbinger of his Will), was honour bound to carry out such a request... but that didn't mean he couldn't give the man a little... test first.

Just to be sure.

Not that surprisingly, his old friend had been right; this Son of Guilliman... this Astartes... would be the perfect man for the **Task**.

 _And where they were going_ , thought Malcador ruefully, _being able to resist such temptation, may just be his strongest asset._

"My Lord, you honour us."

Malcador turned to the source of the... meaningless platitude, only to encounter a solid gleaming wall of gold and blue.

 _Hmph… so this...,_ Malcador thought with a metaphorical wave of an imaginary hand, _is the great Tobias Braxton... Captain of a lesser known Company, given the unenviable task of gathering a handful of scattered Marines, and seconded to carry out an unnamed errand for the Emperors right-hand... not exactly what we needed, but... he'll do. The armours a tad bit ostentatious, but... then again... were we to_ _ **melt**_ _down all that gleaming golden titanium-alloy, we could probably only make a_ _ **single greave**_ _for one of the Custodians standing beside me._

Still... he wasn't that impressed with what he had heard of the man either. His reputation was... mediocre. All his victories had been won through the sacrifice of others. Although... even though Braxton was Terran born, much like the Sigillite himself, he didn't use that to his advantage. He had risen through the ranks of XIII on merit alone... and for that reason, and that reason alone, Malcador tolerated the man.

The man was, **however** , a mediocre lack-lustre Tactician.

 **Predictable.**

 **Plodding** _ **.**_

 **Unimaginative.**

If it were up to the Sigillite, he would have removed the man from the **Mission** during the initial planning stages. The Emperor had however assured him that the man's presence wouldn't matter... either way. Either they would succeed... or... the alternatives didn't bare thinking about.

So for the moment at least, he ignored the 'Illustrious' Commander in favour of the young man, with those terrible... piercing eyes, so horribly mired by **Hate**. Even from here, even with his helm on, Malcador could feel the hatred burning through the young man's blood. Subconsciously, Malcador let his hand wonder down into the satchel he carried... his aged and calloused fingers stroking the edge of one of the strangely wrought scrolls. The **words** of the Emperor... the words he had been task with... passing... onto the deluded young man... were important for the success of the **Mission** , and with that in mind a host of the most prophetic words – he had yet to utter – began to take shape on the very tip of his tongue.

" **Brother Julius** …" he enunciated slowly and quite deliberately... infusing his words with but a modicum of his vast power, "if you do not relinquish your blatant **ignorance** and your simmering **hatred** , the only **Fate** that will await you is a tragic... **Dea~th**."

The look on the young Marines face was priceless, and Malcador was rather grateful that his witch-sight had allowed him to witness it (how else would he have been able to see through the spiteful little bastards Helm); he only wished he had a Pictograph to capture that moment for posterity. Alas it was not meant to be and so; His prophecy spoken, his warning delivered, Malcador turned away from the spluttering Marine – his name forgotten already – and back to find a slightly bemused looking Astartes Captain looking down on him, his crested Maximus helm beneath one arm.

Not that he could fault the man for such an action... Malcador had spent the last century surrounded by super-human giants, being looked down upon came with the territory.

"Let us begin, time is of the essence," he muttered (just loud enough to be heard) as he made his way past Braxton, before the Commander could even summon the wherewithal to comment, "you must all understand the parts which you must play in what is too come."

He turned to face the two Legion Breacher Squads as they gathered around him, much to the displeasure of his gilded guardians, who would probably have preferred if the Ultramarines had remained at a respectful distance... say two to three **hundred** metres or so... behind three feet of solid titanium give or take a inch or two.

"Your mission is critical to the success of a personal project of the Emperor, and should you succeed, you would have all been instrumental in the creation of a safe – alternate – form of travel through the Warp. One, which would not require the use of a starship."

The stunned silence that filled the Armoury was finally broken by a single – blunt – question.

"Theoretical: what would happen if we fail?"

"Should you fail… the consequences would be… **dire**."

"Contingencies?" inquired Sigmund with an almost workman like precision, as if he were simply measuring the legs on a table.

"Sergeant, allow the Sigillite to finish the briefing," rebuked Captain Braxton, with a well worn sense of exasperation, "hear the plan first, **then** … you can kill it with questions."

That brought a tired smile to the Sigillites weathered lips; at least the Captain was good for something. Though it was actually quite surprising, just exactly how sharp the Sergeant appeared to be.

 _And at his age... why isn't he commanding his_ _ **own**_ _Company?_

* * *

Dismissing that errant – seemingly irrelevant – thought, Malcador turned back to the vital matter at hand.

And so, with time being of the essence, Malcador got stuck right into the heart of the matter... the real meat of the Briefing as it were.

"You will proceed from the Armoury, and down into the lower halls. From there you will be guided, by my Guards, toward the Primary **Labratorum** located deep within the sub-levels. Once there you will enter a specifically constructed portal and into the artificial _ **construct**_ located within the Warp. Sergeant Sigmund's Squad will deploy first, to secure the entrance to the construct from within. You will then proceed along the man-made sections of the construct; I will be guiding you the entire time, deep into the... **Eldar-made** sections of the Webway."

At this a sense of unease began to fill the Armoury, and the inevitable question was asked.

"What is the risk to the squad, from the **Xeno-tech** ," this inquiry came – unsurprisingly – from the Companies Chief Techmarine, _Delaphor I believe his name was_ , thought the Sigllite.

"Negligible… as always the greatest risk is from the numerous... **Warp Entities** located within – and around – the Webway **construct** , however unless the Webway itself destabilises, the newer man-made sections we have constructed will prevent them from reaching you. Once your path through the Webway is secure; your Mission is to deploy a **Device** that will stabilize the barriers and connections between all the **old** and **new** sections of the Webway."

He paused as he reached into his satchel and withdrew the **Warp Device** , he quickly handed it to Sergeant Sigmund.

"You will transport the device to the **Activation Point** ," explained Malcador simply.

Sigmund flicked the **Device** open, and examined the Warp energy within.

"If the energy remains clear, then activate the **Device** by pressing the button at the 12 o' clock position. Should the Webway destabilise or the energy – within the **Device** – become... **Corrupted** , press the second button, at the 2 o' clock position to purge the energy from within the **Device**. This will activate our **Contingency Plans**. Once the energy within the **Device** has been depleted, depress the third button to activate the **Teleporter**. You will act as the conduit for that energy, facilitating the teleportation of all those **mentally-linked** to you."

At this statement, he could feel the growing hesitation – boiling... simmering away – within the Sergeant.

"Wouldn't that require me to… use, my abilities. That would clearly **violate** the Oaths I have taken… what of the Edict of Nikea?" queried the morose Psyker… hesitantly.

"Normally, it would, yes... however," the Sigillite responded reaching into his satchel, "the Emperor, for this task and this task alone, has authorised… **this**."

As he finished speaking he had arranged a crimson wax-coin on the edge of a short **Strip of Parchment**. With a flash of light, a stream of eldritch energy arched between his fingers, melting the red disc and affixing the **Purity Seal** to the gilded rim of his Pauldron. As he removed his hand, as if by some arcane meansunknown, the symbol of the Aquila had somehow been embossed at the very centre of the **Seal**. The litany on the yellowed parchment strip simply read:

 **+=Sanxit Magi Imperialis=+**

Which roughly translated (from High Gothic) to "Imperial Sanctioned Psyker," the exact **meaning** of those words was not lost on Sergeant Sigmund.

"Until either the **Emperor** or **I** , revoke this seal, consider yourself officially Sanctioned by the Emperor himself. Until you return, or as needs must, you are authorised to **deputise** and **sanction** any other Psyker you deem fit, under the guise of this Seal-"

At this point Julius interrupted indignantly with barely concealed rage, "my Lord, I must object. This is simply unprecedented, and the Sergeant cannot be tr-"

"You will hold your tongue, Brother," Sigmund hissed with a deathly calm – yet terrifying – tone of voice, "or you can consider yourself **Censured**. The Emperor **himself** , has Sanctioned this. The Sigillite is his **Agent** , by defying him, you defy the Emperor. Am I Clear… **Brother**?"

"Yes," spat the spiteful Marine,not even trying to conceal his anger.

"Yes, what… **Brother**?"

"Yes… **Sir** , Brother Sergeant."

Sigmund turned back to the Sigillite, who prevented the Sergeant from apologising for his Squad mates rudeness by raising a weathered hand to forestall such an unnecessary apology... he then reached for the strap hanging off his shoulder and handed the satchel to the Sergeant.

"Contained within this simple leather pouch are six scrolls. The Emperor **himself** prepared them for this exact task. These Scrolls are a **key-part** of the **Contingency Plans**. Should the need arise... once you have activated the contingency, and have arrived at your destination, read the appropriate scroll –"

"How will I –"

"It will become clear at the appropriate time, Sergeant. The other five scrolls are each intended for a specific individual," responded the Sigillite brusquely, he had neither the time nor the energy to explain further.

He then turned to leave the Armoury, calling back over his shoulder, "come the time to act is rapidly slipping away from us."

Once he stepped out of the Armoury the Custodians took up position around their charge, as the Sigillite led the two squads of Ultramarines down the passage away from the Arming Room.

Sigmund wasted no time as he attached the satchel to his belt, the strap was nowhere near long enough to accommodate for his size. Carefully he placed the intricately fashioned Warp Device within, as he and his men followed the Sigillite and the First Squad out of the Armoury. His squad quickly gathered around him... all but... _**Brother**_... Julius who stood directly behind him... as they set out, taking up the rear-guard position.

 _I get the_ _ **distinct feeling**_ _that I shouldn't have gotten out of_ _ **bed**_ _this morning…_

It was only much, much, later that Sigmund would realise exactly how apt that feeling **truly** was.

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy=+**

 **+=Approaching Chiron Relay=+**

 **+=CIC=+**

 **+=Stairwell=+**

 **+=[42.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[22.58.08]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 38.01.01]=+**

* * *

Suspicion.

Explanation.

Aw… Crap.

As Shepard marched up the curving stairwell toward the CIC, it was inevitable that during such times like these... her mind would turn towards the topic of her " **least favourite Turian**."

And as Shepard's mind pondered her troubling ' **Nihlus Kryik conundrum** ', she wound her way passed a pair of chatting Ensigns, just as Joker called out through the PA system.

 **=We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination.=**

Shepard was still lost in her thoughts, a look of determination etched across her stern face, weaving in and out of the busy crew scattered throughout the bridge, her feet rapidly eating up the miles – okay feet – as she rapidly approached the cockpit.

 **=The relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector.=**

It was clear run to the Cockpit after the Galaxy Map, along the slightly raised walkway between the 'Techie' trenches, and once she caught sight of the forward view-screen... she picked up her pace. The Commander focused on reaching the Cockpit to the exclusion of all else.

 **=All stations secure for transit.=**

And so, Shepard arrived at the cockpit just as they received their approach Vector, her gaze locked solely on the Relay spinning... glowing just on the edge of visual range... getting closer and closer... ignoring everything – and anyone – else that may have been in the cockpit at that time... **completely**.

 **=Hitting the relay in Three... Two... One...=**

In moments they hit the Relay... the slight jolt of the inertial dampeners kicking in could be felt through her knees... and it was at about this most innocuous of moments that Shepard finally noticed exactly **who** she had been sharing the cockpit with.

"Thrusters, check. Navigation, check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift...," Joker bleated out mechanically, as if he had done this exact jump more than a thousand times before… he probably had for all they knew, "just under fifteen hundred 'K'."

"Fifteen hundred is good, your Captain will be pleased," Nihlus, the very **bane** of her existence, acknowledged... who – for some reason known only to the Turian Spectre – then promptly turned around and left the cockpit.

"I **hate** that guy," Joker snapped irritably.

"Nihlus gave you a compliment, so… you **hate** him?" Kaiden Alenko remarked bemusedly, from the Co-Pilots seat next to Joker.

"You remember to zip-up your flight-suit on the way out of the **Bathroom**?" Joker quipped sarcastically, " **that's** Good. I just jumped us half-way across the Galaxy and hit a Target the size of a pinhead. **That's** incredible."

His sarcastic quip delivered, Joker turned his attention back toward the glowing holographic controls, "Besides, Spectres are trouble. I don't like having him aboard. Call me paranoid."

"You're **paranoid** ," chirped the Sentinel without missing a beat.

"The council helped fund this project. They have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment," Kaiden replied evenly, "that's the official story anyway."

"Yeah, that's the ' **official** ' story. But only an idiot believes the **official** story. Nihlus is a Council **Spectre** , you don't send Spectres on shake-down-runs… there's something their not telling us," Joker responded dismissively, "what do you think Commander."

Joker'squestion broke Shepard out of her long running internal 'Nihlus is a Creep' monologue/debate... it took less than a second for her internal bullshit meter to redline, and then her lips began moving long before brain even had a chance to catch up.

"Somebody's **lying** to us, I don't know **who** and I don't know **why** , but I don't like it," Shepard muttered as she stopped leaning over the Pilots' Seat... straightening up and crossing her arms, "so stay frosty, this Mission could go **south** at any time."

Before anyone could really respond to such a definitive statement, or speculate any further, the Internal Comm. System burst to life.

 **=Joker! Status report=** demanded Captain Anderson, his deep baritone flooding through the Cockpit from a series of unseen speakers.

"We just cleared the Mass Relay Captain. Stealth systems are engaged... everything looks solid. Eta to Eden Prime forty-five minutes," Joker responded professionally.

 **=Good. Find us a Comm. Buoy and link us up with the network. I want our mission reports relayed straight to the Alliance brass** _ **before**_ **we reach Eden Prime=** Anderson ordered brusquely.

"Roger that," Joker confirmed, and clearly as an afterthought warned that, "oh… and Commander, heads-up, Nihlus is on his way."

 **=He's already here=** Joker couldn't help wincing at that **=if you see Shepard, tell her to report to the Comms Room. Anderson out=**

Joker looked over his shoulder at Shepard apologetically, "you get that, Commander?"

"Yeah. Sounds like he's in a bad mood," mumbled the Commander dejectedly.

"He's always in a bad mood." Joker joked… sarcastically.

"Only when he's talking to **you,** Joker," Kaiden sniped cheerfully, with a chuckle.

Deciding to get this over with, Shepard marched off towards the rear of the deck, where an Alien Weirdo and her well-respected Commanding Officer were waiting for her arrival.

 **She** would march in there and find out what's, what...

 **She** would stand her ground, and demand the information...

 **She** would walk right up to Nihlus, get right up in his face and-

 _Oh-look… it's Navigator Pressley_ , she thought evasively, as veered off course towards the grumpy old Officer, _I probably have some crucial Intel that I need to give him, or a status report that needs reporting, or something to do with… um-er… Space. Yeah... Space... very important that._

Five minutes later she had run out of topics to procrastinate, _I-er mean_ talk about. Pressley – himself – had raised quite a few good points during their brief procras – er – conversation. Something **was** definitely going on here... something wrong... something very wrong. The Ship had been fully staffed… for a simple shake-down-run? They could have done this cruise with just a skeleton crew... why on Earth would they need a full compliment? And what about Captain Anderson... what about her. You don't send two veteran Spec. Ops Commanders on a shake-down-run, and what about Nihlus... what was a Spectre doing here? Something _**was**_ going on here, and she needed to find out what. **Fast**.

She needed to go in there and face her fears.

She needed to go in there and get some answers.

She needed to-

 _Oooh-look… there's Jenkins and my Favourite Doctor._

 _Let's check in with them then._

"Hey Commander, me and Doctor Chakwas were just talking about Nihlus and the Spectres. Hey… now that I think about it, you'd make a perfect candidate for the Spectres. Your always getting dropped into near impossible situations, forced to survive unbeatable odds. Just like you did on Akuze."

Doctor Chakwas winced in sympathy for... well it was hard to tell if it was sympathy for Shepard... or Jenkins.

Shepard looked the Rookie in the eye and with a frighteningly calm voice explained to the paling young Marine quite clearly that, "Fifty Marines **died** on that barren- **speck** of **rock** , Jenkins."

"I'm-m s-sorry C-c'mander. I respect what you did there. We all do," he muttered quite fast, he was quite notably cowed by Shepard barbed remark.

"Let's not try to dwell on the past, Commander," Doctor Chakwas interjected diplomatically, having one patient eviscerate another was bad form after all, "as much as I am enjoying our little chat, don't you have somewhere to be?"

It was at this point that Shepard didn't know whether to punch the Doctor's Clock or Kiss her... she always seemed to say exactly what Shepard needed to hear – regardless of whether she wanted to hear it or not. She knew the upcoming confrontation would only become even more uncomfortable if she kept stalling like this, so she bit the metaphorical Bullet, and decided to actually go and talk to the weird Turian sitting in the Comm. Room.

* * *

A moment later Shepard walked through the sound-proofed doors of the Comm. Room expecting to find her direct Superior. What she found instead was… **different**. Nihlus stood in the centre of the round room, a dark silhouette, facing a large Holo-Image of a gleaming White City floating in a sea of verdant Greenery.

 _I suppose he thinks it makes him look like a badass_ , thought Shepard sardonically as she stepped down the gently sloping ramp down into the Comm Room.

"Ah… Shepard. I'm glad you're here. I was hoping we'd have a chance to **talk** ," the Spectre greeted her warmly, at least she thought so, it was hard to tell with the distortion from his translator... that and Turian vocal-cords just sounded weird to her fleshy human ears.

"Where's Captain Anderson?" Shepard asked him directly, her well-trained poker face came immediately into play.

"He's on his way," Nihlus admitted evasively, as he turned back to the Holo-Image projected across the rear of the circular room.

"I'm curious about this world we're going to," Nihlus resumed casually, as he began pacing in front of the Holo-Screen, "Eden Prime... I hear it's quite beautiful."

"That's what Jenkins told me. Apparently he was raised there. I've never been there myself," Shepard replied evenly, watching the Spectre like a hawk... the man – Turian… whatever – was acting so casual, in a way that only someone with something to hide can.

"You should. I think you'd like it," Nihlus replied cryptically, "It's become quite a symbol for your people... hasn't it? Proof that humanity can not only establish Colonies but protect them as well," he paused…"But how safe is it _**really**_ _?_ "

"It's a Colony," Shepard remarked evenly, not really seeing the point of this... distraction, "nothing more, nothing less."

The Commander advanced toward the projection, her gaze locked on the image. With a flick of her wrist the view changed to show a group of unarmed men and women, picking some sort fruit from a very alien-looking tree.

"The Colonists. They're the real symbol," Shepard declared enigmatically, ignoring the real question – whatever the hell that was – hiding in-between the Turians words, "always striving for something better... for something new."

"But not everyone succeeds," Nihlus replied factually, seemingly trying to turn the conversation back to its original purpose... whatever that may be.

"There's an old saying, which my father used to quote to me when life seemed darkest, 'Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up again'," Shepard responded sagely.

"Ah… very wise. The words of a famous leader or philosopher I suppose?" inquired the Spectre magnanimously.

" **Batman** ," Shepard explained evenly, in a tone that one could almost describe as sadistic.

The look on poor Nihlus's face could only be described as confusion; the kind of confusion worn by puppies everywhere after they find out that glass is solid, and not conducive to running into at full-tilt... at least she thought it was confusion. It was hard to tell, what with the mandibles and all, the look he was giving sure as hell confused the shit out of her. Shepard would've laughed… had someone not beat her to it.

A deep chuckle sounded from behind the pair, "I think that it's about time we told the Commander what's **reall** _ **y**_ going on here, Nihlus."

And then as if out of thin air, Anderson appeared – silently – at the entrance to the Comm. Room, his "James Earl Jones" tenor was instantly recognisable to anyone who had ever met the man... and to many that had not... the man had starred in at least one Recruiting Ad, that Shepard knew of.

"Very well," Nihlus muttered in exasperation, "I'm not **only** here to observe the Normandy, this mission is far more than a **simple** shakedown run. I'm-"

"I knew it, you don't send a Spectre on-" Shepard looked over at her Captain guiltily, who had coughed into his hand politely to bring her back to the matter – pardon the pun – at hand, "sorry… please continue."

Nihlus made a funny growling sound (a chuckle maybe?) before he continued, "Human Archaeologists have uncovered an Artefact on Eden Prime, our mission... is to retrieve **it** – **and** the Researchers – and bring them all back to the Citadel… so they can study it properly."

Shepard was about to open her mouth to ask a question, when Anderson pre-empted her with an answer of his own, "We're making a covert pick-up on Eden Prime. **That's** why we needed the stealth systems operational. The research team on Eden Prime unearthed some kind of beacon during an excavation," Anderson paused, casting a wary eye about the room... making doubly sure there was no-one eves-dropping, at the heart of one of the most secure ships in the Galaxy.

 _Whatever's got Anderson worried must be–_

"It was **Prothean**."

She raised an eyebrow at that, "then **why** on Earth are we handing it over to the Council?"

Nihlus moved to speak, but Anderson forestalled the Spectre with a raised hand.

" **Firstly** , we **don't have** the proper facilities to study the Artefact. And, besides we signed a Treaty with the Council, we share all the Artefacts we find and they in turn do the same."

"Which is **why** we need to bring the beacon back to the Citadel for proper study... you see, this goes beyond **mere** Human interests. This discovery could affect nearly every species within Council space." Nihlus added, and annoyingly he did have a point.

Which didn't stop Shepard trying to argue further… but in the end Anderson spoke first, " **besides** … the beacon is… **Intact**. The one we found on Mars, was corrupted… damaged, and it still leap-frogged our Technology forward over **a hundred years**. This discovery is far bigger than **just** Humanity, it could advance the level of Galactic Technology forward **two hundred years or more**. Humanity can't be seen trying to hoard something like **that** … it would **destroy** all the hard-earned Trust we've have built-up over the **last thirty-years**. And what if it's a Weapons Cache?"

He moved to look closer at the Holo-projector, "besides, we don't have the resources around Eden Prime to **secure the Planet** , should news get out about the Beacon."

"What do you mean, Sir?" Shepard inquired… uncertainly.

"Eden Prime is on the very edge of the Terminus Systems," Anderson replied very calmly.

 _Far too calmly_ , thought Shepard she knew exactly what he had done on Elysium... and if the Brass sent him here, that could only mean –

"You think the Batarians would risk a raid on Eden Prime, **so far** within Alliance Space?" Shepard asked with trepidation... trepidation tinged with absolute incredulity.

"Yes, and Admiral Hackett agrees with me on this… so that's why he sent **us**."

 _Whoa… when the Hero of Elysium and the Butcher of Torfan, say that the Batarians are going to raid a Colony, the best thing to do is drop a few squads of N7's on the Planet, and station a Fleet in Orbit._

"How safe is any Colony **really** , and with a Prize this big, the Batarians and any other faction in the Terminus may be capable of just about… **anything** ," these words of wisdom were – surprisingly – from Nihlus.

"So… shouldn't we just park a Fleet in orbit then?" Shepard muttered critically.

"No, that'll draw too much attention, in and out, by the time news of the Beacon breaks, we'll all be safely back on the Citadel," Anderson explained succinctly.

"So that's why you're here then?" Shepard enquired of her least favourite alien stalker.

"Not entirely," Nihlus answered cryptically.

Nihlus turned to Anderson, who nodded in the Affirmative, and responded exasperatedly, "You see, the beacon's not the only reason I'm here."

"Nihlus wants to see you in action," Anderson elaborated further, "He's here to observe you."

This put her mild paranoia on hold, when you find out that someone is out to get you, it stops being paranoia and becomes relatively healthy suspicion. That her superior officer, this one in particular, would collude with a Turian to… she didn't know **what**.

"Observe me for **what**?" Shepard asked calmly, suspicion poisoning the hard and rather sharp looks she was giving the pair as she slowly backed –

"Nihlus, has nominated you, for the Spectres," explained Anderson evenly.

That... that was the last thing she was expecting...

"The Alliance has been pushing this for a long time, Shepard," Anderson stated quickly, when Shepard looked like she was about raise hell.

Shepard bit her tongue, she knew if she spoke now... she'd... well it wouldn't be pretty –

"Humanity wants a larger role in shaping interstellar policy. We want more say with the Citadel Council. The Spectres represent the Council's power and authority…," Anderson explained a fast as he could, he had known Shepard for a long time... but that didn't mean he knew how long he had before Mount St. Shepard blew, "If they accept a Human into their ranks, it shows just how far the Alliance has come..."

At this point her brain decided to file a request for shore-leave and shut-down leaving her mouth open and – sadly – on auto-pilot.

"But… But- I'm Human, why would you-"

"Not all Turians **resent** Humans," Nihlus explained, in a tone recognisable by all Kindergarten Teachers everywhere,"Some of us see the potential in your species. We see what you have to offer to the rest of the galaxy, and to the Spectres. It's rare to find an individual with the skills **we seek**."

Nihlus casually took a step towards the poor bemused woman,"I don't care that you're **Human** , Shepard. I only care that you can get the job **done** ," replied Nihlus curtly, "your record speaks for **itself**... not many could have **survived** what you went through on Akuze. You showed not only incredible skill, but also a strong will to **live** – a singularly **useful** talent, in a Spectre," Nihlus noted succinctly.

"Earth **needs** this, Commander," Anderson stated, trying to bolster her flagging spirits, "We're **counting** on you."

Not even the mention of that hell-hole could reboot her Brain at **that** point, so... with her brain still MIA, her mouth tried to fill in the Blanks, "what now?"

"We will complete the Mission on Eden Prime," the Spectre answered bluntly, seemingly oblivious to her confusion, "I will need to see your skills myself. Then I will observe you on several Council Missions, and make a recommendation."

That statement rebooted her Awol brain, and made her groan.

 _And here I thought that Nihlus had some strange '_ _ **human' fetish**_ , she thought depressingly as she came to a very… depressing conclusion, _this... this is_ _ **worse… so much worse**_ _. I woke up this morning thinking he was a '_ _ **Stalker**_ _,' now… I realise its_ _ **far worse**_ _than man wants to give me a surprise_ _ **god-damn performance review**_ _. I swear; if they start pulling out ink-blot tests and start asking me what I see, I swear..._ _ **I'm gonna start shooting people!**_

"Well at least my day can't get any **worse** ," Shepard groaned sardonically.

Anderson and Nihlus looked at each other in confusion, but before either could respond to her comment–

 **=Captain! We've got a problem!=**

"What's wrong, Joker?" Anderson requested, a tiny fraction of concern seeping into his voice.

 **=Transmission from Eden Prime, sir. You better see this,=** there was no sarcasm in the Pilots tone... not a hint of it at all.

"Bring it up on Screen," Anderson commanded, whether his Orders were intended for Joker or the Ships V.I. Shepard didn't know.

 _Me and my_ _ **big**_ _mouth_ , Shepard muttered despondently as one of the most horrific recordings she had ever witnessed began to play.

* * *

 **+=Imperial Palace=+**

 **+=Himalayas=+**

 **Classified**

 **+=En route Labratorum=+**

 **+=[222.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[12.14.09]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 48.46.00]=+**

* * *

Procession.

Immemorial.

Deployment.

They advanced quickly through a succession of nearly identical rough-looking hallways, down a series of seemingly endless passageways and into – and out of – several enormous artificial caverns.

The majority of the journey was spent deep underground, in bare rock passages, passing in and out of sprayed-rockcreet tunnels or through plas-steel reinforced bunkers. Finally after fifteen minutes of ceaseless marching they finally entered into an exceedingly **opulent** hall; decadently filled with smooth seamless white marble floors, carved - sculpted - rose-quartz columns, and walls enamelled with gold that seemed to just run and melt into gilded vaulted-ceilings overhead. The obvious display of decadence and wealth was quite deceiving, as they advanced the number of guards increased exponentially, however unlike the pathway from the Armoury – the majority of the Custodians were facing **inward** – not outward.

This worried Sergeant Sigmund – he had spent his entire life heading into danger, the Thirteenth's Breacher Squads were always at the tip of the spear – but compared to his meagre force, the forces arrayed before them and their destination were… **Legion**. He also – through his newly awoken Witch-Sight – began to... sense... no it was too subtle... he began to... feel... an almost sinister presence. It almost felt as if, he... was... surrounded by an incalculable number of… gaping... **wounds** within the Warp... and it was only a matter of time before he spotted the diminutive (and distinctly feminine) bronze figures. Armed each with a large Foe-Blade, armoured in brass and bronze – each with their uniformly shaved heads and top-knots – the Sisters of Silence stood out within his witch-sight like a sore thumb.

And the Defences didn't end with mere mortal defenders, embedded within the cap-stones of nearly every column they passed, resided a multi-barrelled Servo-Skull Turret. **Hundreds** of them within the first hall alone – which didn't disturb the hardened veteran so much – what disturbed him... what frightened Sigmund, **severely** , was the motion of the man-machines.

They tracked everything that moved...

They not only tracked the party of Ultramarines, but every living being in the hall, from the vigilant Custodians to even the soulless Sisters of Silence.

It was only after they had advanced through three of these gilded halls (each one was even more decadent and far more heavily guarded than the last) and down several spiral staircase-like avenues (each with a landing as vast as the launch deck of a Battlebarge), that the Captain broke the silence of their march by speaking out across the Vox – Company wide.

 **=Brothers, the next hall is the last before the Science Chambers. When we arrive you are to advance along the left-hand side of the Chamber. Sergeant Sigmund you and Second Squad will take point. Sigmund you are our Pathfinder. On your signal, the Mark will begin. Confirm?=**

He blinked affirmative (using his helmets Retinal Command Interface) and in response his Rune blinked green across the Command-Net in both his and Captain Braxton's helmet.

Braxton continued, **=I want Squad checks before we enter the Labratorum Chamber. Once we cross that threshold, I want vox-silence, according to the Sigillite... there is some very sensitive equipment in there. Confirm?=**

Sigmund waited for the Runes – symbolising the Marines on Second Squad – to signal the Affirmative, before signalling his accent to the Company wide tactical network. Once all of his squads Runes were green, he blink-confirmed on the Command-Net.

In moments they advanced toward the doors of the last chamber – the last chamber before the Labratorum that is – the doors swung open of their own accord to reveal... a space... no a cavern, that **defied** mere mortal **comprehension**. Scattered across the immense chamber were thousands of pitch-black glassy columns rising up, toward a chamber ceiling… **unseen** , before their mortal sight... a field of pillars could be seen stretching **dimly** into the distance.

Every single pillar within range seemed too have been formed out of a black (almost glass-like) volcanic stone. Each and every column had seemingly been **grown** in place... their strange hexagonal shape clearly the work of some kind of artifice unknown to man, rose up and outward far beyond even the what the Marines bellow could see with their radically genehanced-sight. And even with **his** prodigious vision, Sigmund still couldn't see the roof of the Massive chamber, so... hoping that he may gleam some data... he activated the Auspex (built into his helmet) and brought up the rangefinder too –

 _That can't be right_ , he thought in confusion.

 **+=[Range: Max]=+**

 _My rangefinder maxes out at exactly_ _ **Ten Thousand**_ _meters, which meant…_

He couldn't even comprehend that.

 _ **How**_ _did they manage to construct such a vast space without the rest of the planet knowing_ , Sigmund mentally pondered flabbergasted?

 _May haps, we have time to do a little experimentation…_

He turned round and tried his rangefinder again, this time on the Archway they had entered just a short time before.

 **+=[Range: 2 000 meters]=+**

 _That's confusing…_

According to his Chronometer, they had barely been in the chamber more than a minute... _how could they have crossed such a distance in such a short space of time_? He turned back toward the front of the group and noticed a… glimmer in the distance ahead of them. He tried his rangefinder again and got…

 **+=[Range: Max]=+**

He decided to leave it running, and turned to other means to help discern the nature of the cavern around them. Deciding that now was as good a time as any to test out his long dormant abilities (before they got too close to the 'Delicate Machinery' the Captain had mentioned in his broadcast) Sigmund reached out with his mind, allowing his vision to shift into the eldritch realm of his Witch-Sight. And what he saw…

 _By the Light on Terra…_

The cavern stretched out around them beyond **all measures** of proportion, a perfect hemi-sphere, a shape which he sensed went onward far below their feet to form a perfect sphere beyond even the furthest reaches of his witch-sight. He saw mile-after-mile of intricate symbols and patterns imbedded within the smooth ground beneath his boots, and marvelled at the strange psychic connections between the exterior wall and the Pillars that rose up beyond even his warp-augmented sight. The Pillars were mere **toothpicks** in comparison with the **Sphere**. And each of the pillars seemed to act as some sort of Psychic-Lightning rod, channelling energy outwards, toward the crystals set into the curved walls of the sphere. The sphere was like an artificial Geode, filled with uniquely symmetrical crystals, and beyond that… nothing.

With that thought a sudden realisation struck the psychic Marine.

 _This place is a Psychic Isolation chamber_ , he thought in wonder, _though_ _ **what**_ _level of energies would a man need to channel, in order to necessitate a structure of such scale, is beyond me... I can't even begin to fathom..._

If he could barely comprehend the Scale of the Gateway into the Warp Construct, how would he even begin to guide the rest of this meagre Company through the-

 _ **Beep…**_

His rangefinder got a return on the structure ahead, but before he could process that new data…

A vast pulse of psychic energy, rippled through the Chamber. The atmosphere around them suddenly became charged, he could feel an almost physical shift of the Energies even within the carefully controlled Realspace of this place. He flinched at the sudden spike of energy, he could almost taste it... it reeked of... desperation…

 _We need to pick up the pace_ , he thought, a small modicum of worry entering the labyrinthian halls of his well trained mind... which his inner analytical self throttled the life out of a split second later. Clearly he wasn't the only one in the group to feel it. He was not the only Battle-Brother to flinch – at the sudden energy pulse – a Brother standing next to Captain Braxton flinched as well, as did the Sigillite himself.

The Sigillite faltered for but a moment – and after recovering – he turned to his Custodian bodyguards and declared urgently, "We must make haste. Our window of **opportunity** is closing. Fast."

The Custodian next to him nodded, and moved to pick up the First Lord of Terra, placing the elderly man within the crook of his left arm. The moment his feet left the ground the twenty-two trans-humans broke into a near superhuman sprint. Sigmund was about to turn his attention back to analysing the structure around him when he felt a presence touch his mind. Recoiling he–

 _Sergeant_ , whispered the voice within his mind, _listen very carefully, I only have so much time to explain–_

 _My lord?_ Interrupted Sigmund, _what could be said that cannot be spoken over comm-chan–_

 _These secrets are not for lesser ears_ , interrupted the Sigillite sternly, projecting his thoughts – and a sense of dire urgency – toward the Marine, _we have used methods both Arcane and Mundane to create this opportunity. However the calm – that has been created within the Warp – is_ _ **fading**_ _. I can sense the calm structured realspace, within the newer sections of the Webway being torn apart from here._

As the Sigillite spoke, the pillars began to blur past them and up ahead the faint glimmer had turned into a blazing light encompassing a pure golden Dome at its very centre – one which rose up from the floor. The Sigillite continued to impart the very idea of the delicate nature of the Warp Construct – and the vast engines that had been used to stabilise and directed the vast energies – as they continued to sprint across the artificially flat black-granite floor at super-human speeds. In less than five minutes they had reached the gilded dome at the centre of the Chamber in less than five minutes they had crossed nearly ten kilometres... but even such a feat – insane even by their standards – failed to slow the party.

With the Sigillite at their head, the Squads turned their attention to the Entryway and its colossal Guardians... a pair of golden Warlord Titans, nearly two-hundred feet high... the pair of them stood sentinel on either side of the gilded dome.

While the Sigillite gave the Rites of Entry, Sigmund turned his attention back to the conflicting readings from his Visor. When they had reached the Gateway he gazed up across the gilded curve of the dome, and had he not been wearing a helmet at the time, his jaw would have landed at his feet…

 **+=[Range: 9 814 meters]=+**

And he couldn't even **see** the top of the Dome from where he was standing – at first glance he thought to compare it to the great Domes of the Fortress of Hera, or the Dome within the Temple of Correction – but even the **incomplete** readings of this staggering structure dwarfed them both in comparison.

But before he could even try to comprehend the sheer scale of this massive structure, the Doors to this grand basilica of a Laboratory opened wide before them.

The amount of energy that flowed from within the Chamber was staggering, even Brother Julius – who stood to the rear of Squad and was about as clairvoyant as a brick – staggered as the wall of **Eldritch Energies** struck them as the Doors were suddenly cast open.

The very weight of **Eternity** seemed to hang upon those massive golden hinges, as they advanced inward along a graceful golden-arc... thin and delicate... that spanned the gaping chasm which lay before them. It was only as Sigmund advanced across the bridge that he realised that the inner mechanism of the Sphere, sat before them clearly **defying gravity**... suspended at the very centre of the vast Psychic-Machine.

While the Outer sphere forced the nearly unbending Laws of Realspace upon those within it, the Inner sphere channelled the energy drawn from the larger sphere to **Break** those very same Laws in an absolutely spectacular fashion. And at the centre of the chamber sat an inverted hemi-sphere of an island, at the very centre of that island shone an **unnaturally** bright light... which seemed continually to burst forth into being.

It never faded...

It never grew...

It never died...

But they had no time to dawdle...

They carefully crossed the bridge in an orderly fashion and quickly advanced along towards the far edge of the platform. As his eyes adjusted to the blinding Corona of Light, Sigmund could barely make out... several figures within its… **brilliance**. Hundreds of them... all robed and bristling with cybernetics, being herded along by dozens upon dozens of Custodians and Sisters of Silence, filling the platform – from end to end. As his eyes adjusted further he could just make out a strange pyramid-like structure – at least ten feet high – centred perfectly and symmetrically upon the platform... at the very centre of the sphere. To the sides tall monolithic data stacks extended toward the perimeter of the platform, were an innumerable number of servitors hardwired into their stations between the digital standing-stones, like a strange group of Cybernetic Druids woven into their gothic cybernetic temple. The Sigillite and his bodyguards led the way between the silicon standing stones, towards an enormous closed gateway (that clearly seemed to lead nowhere) that lay opposite the Entrance by which they had entered.

"This is the entrance into the Webway," the Sigillite explained as he gestured towards the gilded Blast-Doors which stood at the edge of the Chasm, " **Hurry** , our time runs short."

Second Squad moved up and took up a forward position at the foot of the Gate, with the Command Squad arrayed behind them, while Malcador and his Custodians retreated back toward the Pyramid. The two semi-circles of – uniformly cobalt blue – Ultramarines stood with their golden pointed helms facing the sealed doors; the odd ones out being Grammaticus, Delaphor, Braxton and Sigmund. Sigmund stood ahead of his Brothers; he moved forward and was about to unlock his Bolter from his arm when…

 _A vast presence…_

 _Gently touched…_

 _The edge of…_

 _His_ _ **Mind**_ _…_

He had never quite felt anything like it before. He tried to touch it... to draw the tendril of thought closer... but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite grasp it. And so, frustrated, he turned towards it, and his eyes were drawn into the blinding Corona of Light which lay at the very heart of the Chamber. With his Witch-Sight he could gaze into the Light, and what he found… was a man, a Man whom he had only had the honour of being in the presence of… **twice** … before.

Atop the Golden pyramid sat upon a Throne forged from Electrum and thought alone, sat upon a throne…a throne fit for a **God** , Sat a **Man**. And even seated **He** dwarfed even the Custodians within the Chamber; **He** was taller than them all. Sigmund had seen **Him** in the presence of **His** Sons, and in his presence they seemed like mere men arrayed before **Him** , even the mighty Guilliman was but a child in comparison.

 **His** Armour was Golden and clearly Embossed with the Imperial Eagle, **His** pauldrons wrapped within the Wings of those soaring Eagles, and **His** Taloned power-fists clasped upon the arms of **His** Throne. Atop **His** raven haired brow, sat a Golden Laurel, giving **His** frightfully stern features a very patrician appearance... a face that bore a striking resemblance to the long extinct roving horse-tribes of Nord-Ame-Rika. He sat at the very centre of the Imperial Palace, atop a Gilded Throne, blazing like the Sun itself…

This could only be one **Man** …

Thus – facing the centre of the Chamber – he let his shield hang from a strap over his shoulder, before drawing his massive power sword and placing the tip directly between his feet. He then knelt before the **Emperor** , resting his helmeted head upon the hilt of his blade. It was while he was in such supplication that he felt the thrum of the Warp as it began to flow down his arms. He then heard the Energy as it crackled and hissed as it began arching over his rune-encrusted and thickly gauntleted fists. He then sensed the Energy activating the Sigils on his Nemesis Blade as a **Chill** entered his very **Soul.**

He felt it then... he sensed... a way... and so he reached down – **deep within himself** – and found… a **Spark**.

The Energy arched from his blade and earthed itself within his armour, the **Chill** then entered the room, and the intricately carved Sigils across his plated power-armour began to **Glow**. A bright eldritch blue flame sprouted from within his chest and gathered upon his pauldrons, with a flame so cold it burned, and the **Lenses** within his helm began to glow an eerie electric-blue. He turned back toward the gate, raising his eerie pale blue blade (the tip pointed inexorably toward the curving roof of the chamber), and advanced upon the sealed **Gate**. As he advanced upon it, the **Gate** swung open of its own volition to admit him in, revealing a Tunnel made of Cerulean Energies – solidified into reality... filled with colours no mortal mind would dare comprehend.

Without a second though; Sigmund crossed the ethereal threshold, advancing ever onwards garbed like a Crusader of old, leading his men – his Commanders – to their destiny and acting like a grand **Beacon** for those who would follow.

From his Vocaliser echoed – eerily – but a single Word, " **Mark.** "

* * *

 **+=[Mark: + 00.00.00]=+**

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy=+**

 **+=Approaching Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Engineering=+**

 **+=Hanger=+**

 **+=[42.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[12.45.09]=+**

 **+=[mark: – 48.14.00]=+**

* * *

Preparation.

Shock.

Operations Commence.

Within forty-five minutes – of the Transmission from Eden Prime – they had arrived within visual range of the planet.

Eden Prime was burning...

And at the sight of the fires that had spread across whole continents, Anderson ordered that all necessary procedures be made as quickly as possible to descend into the thick Atmosphere of the Garden World. Shepard had already assembled her ground team – Kaiden and Jenkins – long before and they were all busy checking their own equipment in the Normandy's Hanger.

A dark festering cloud seemed to hang over the group – **centred** squarely around Shepard – even Jenkins (the perky rookie of the Team, not more than an hour ago) was filled with a quiet – but fierce – determination. The thought that someone would attack his home – his colony – had provided the young Marine with a rare moment of **clarity** and **purpose**. Kaiden seemed to be more concerned about his Commanding Officer, than his equipment, or even the upcoming Mission on Eden Prime for that matter.

Shepard had been **unnaturally** quiet since she had instructed the Squad to suit up. She wouldn't admit it to her adhoc team, but the Transmission from Eden Prime had **unnerved** her. And for that exact reason, she had not shown them the Footage... but she could not get the Image of that... **thing** … out of her mind.

She had given them the facts... the bare minimum; the Planet was under **attack** , they were going in to **secure** a Prothean Artefact, and thus **deny** it to the Enemy. **No** further Information, **no** Speculation, **no** Fear…

She had tried to keep herself busy since then, however for the last half an hour, her mind kept turning back to that… horrible... horrible _**Transmission**_ …

* * *

The Footage shook…

Running. **Panic** …

Gunfire. **Screams** …

Distorted yelling…

Then a man charged toward the Camera.

A man in white and… pink?…

"Get down," she cried, firing over the camera towards the enemy.

Not a man...

The view never once turning toward the enemy.

A man ran toward the camera, grabbing it, pleading with it, "We're under **Attack!** "

 **Boom**

"We're taking heavy casualties. I repeat; **[Static]** 'vy Casualties. We can't–"

 **Bang** – an explosion went off behind him, far too close for comfort.

He continued… his voice… his image… was still quite distorted, "-peat **Need EVAC**!" the man started to panic, "they came out of nowhere! We nee–"

 **Bang** – blood splattered the lens, the operator trying to wipe it off, turned to the corpse seemingly fixated on it as–

… _ **Silence**_ …

 **Screams of the Damned** …

The Camera looks up at… A…

Leviathan descending from the sky…

Wreathed in malevolent scarlet Energies…

The… Screeching grew far worse…

What was once a single voice now was… **Legion**.

The soldiers all clutched their heads in pain, the Gunfire ceases.

Then …Static.

* * *

 **=Everything cuts out after that=** Joker had stated calmly, breaking the deafening silence **=No Comm. Traffic… at all. It just goes dead… There's nothing…=**

" **Reverse** and **hold** at thirty-eight-point-five," Anderson had quickly ordered.

The images flashed back until… that _**thing**_ had filled the Screen. Anderson had tried to glare down the creature... the Leviathan displayed before him.

" **Status report** ," Anderson had barked eventually, his steely gaze never once leaving the image.

 **=Forty-five minutes out, Captain. No other Alliance ships in the Area,=** Joker responded emotionlessly in turn.

"Take us in – Joker – fast and quiet," Anderson had ordered, before turning his gaze back to the screen, he commented glibly, "this Mission just got a **whole** lot more complicated."

Nihlus drew his eyes from the screen and turned to Anderson, "a small strike team can move in **quickly** , without drawing too much attention. It would probably be our best chance to secure the beacon," he had suggested.

Nodding Anderson had turned to face Shepard, his orders had been quick, but concise, "head down to deck-two and gear up… Tell Alenko and Jenkins to gear up as well. When the three of you are ready, Nihlus and I will brief your team."

"You're going in…"

* * *

That was **almost** forty-five minutes ago, she had grabbed Kaiden and Jenkins, and her gear… and now they had to **wait** –

 **=Engaging Stealth Systems,=** reported Joker seriously, well… almost **=somebody's been doing some serious digging down there, Commander.=**

Anderson who had been standing off to the side of the Hanger-Bay just shook his head at the Pilot's antics; turning to Shepard's Team he began the briefing, "your team's the **Muscle** in this Operation Commander. Go in **hard** and head **straight** for the Dig Site."

"What about survivors, Captain?" Alenko asked earnestly, his eyes tracing worried arcs between Anderson and the Hanger doors.

Anderson turned to the Lieutenant, and stated ruthlessly, "Evacuating survivors is a **Secondary** objective. The **Beacon's** your **Top** Priority."

"But sir –"

 **=Approaching drop point-one,=** Joker stated calmly, interrupting whatever objection Kaiden was about to make, as the Hangers Doors **hissed** open, the sound of the wind **howling** and **screeching** past the opening.

Nihlus moved toward the opening, and Jenkins – who had been out of it most of the meeting – couldn't help but ask, "Nihlus... You're not coming with us?"

"I move faster on my **Own** ," Nihlus called back over his shoulder, and after checking his Shotgun, he dashed through the Hanger.

He jumped off the Edge of the Ramp, barely a moment later the Normandy was already accelerating towards the next drop point.

Elaborating not only to Jenkins, but to the Squad as a whole, Anderson explained, "Nihlus will scout ahead, and provide over-watch for your Squad. He'll feed you status reports, throughout the Mission, but otherwise I want radio **silence**."

 **=We're approaching drop point-two,=** declared Joker over the intercom, breaking Shepard out her own little world.

Shepard turned back to the Cargo-Bay Doors, only to find Anderson his gaze locked with hers, "You're **ready** Commander."

Shepard turned back to Bay-Doors.

That wasn't a **Question**.

That was a **Statement**.

 **A Statement. Of. Fact.**

She had looked into his eyes and saw nothing but **determination**.

He had **believed** in her, and he knew she was **ready**.

He **Knew** she could do it.

The ship slowed and Shepard gave the Order, "Squad Advance."

She marched forward and onward into History.

* * *

 **+=[Mark: + 00.00.00]=+**

* * *

 **Codex Entry: The Angel and the Butcher**

 **Captain David Anderson and Admiral Steven Hackett are two of the most decorated Officers currently serving in the System Alliance Armed Forces; and both are publically recognised for their actions on Elysium and Torfan respectively. During a large Interstellar Conflict in 2174, in what would be later called the 'Skyllian Blitz', a large Batarian Pirate Fleet struck several Human Worlds in the Traverse (see. Outside Council Space), culminating in a large-scale attack on Elysium, the most Populous World in the Sector.**

 **During the attack – then Lieutenant-Commander – David Anderson, while on shore-leave, joined the Planetary Defence Forces (see. Human Military Doctrine, Sub-Folder: PDF) in an attempt to repel the Slavers Forces. The severely out-numbered defenders had already suffered significant losses when the PDF barracks (on the Outskirts of the Capital) was shelled from high orbit. The Lieutenant-Commander was eventually cut-off and isolated from the rest of his adhoc-unit during the opening stages of the planetary assault, to his credit he stood his ground and – single-handedly – defended an entire bunker filled with Civilians. His actions and those of the remaining defenders, delayed the Pirate Ground Forces long enough, thus allowing the Twelfth and Seventh Fleet (from Arcturus) to rendezvous and cut-off the Pirate Fleets escape route. Trapped within the Gravity Well of the Planet, and thus severely outnumbered, the majority of the fleet was annihilated in low-orbit. Trapped between the re-enforced Defenders and the superior firepower of the Fleet, the Pirate Ground Forces planet-side surrendered on-masse.**

 **Within half-an-hour, Intel had been gleamed, through dubious and suspect methods about the Origin of the bulk of the Fleet's Ships, which thus allowed the Alliance Intelligence Agency (see. Human Intelligence and Counter-Espionage, Sub-Folder: AIA) to trace the raid to the Pirate Moon of Torfan. Admiral Hackett – in a move that would later be called both Reckless and Suicidal by some... Bold, Brave and Daring by others – made an Executive Decision and began deploying the Entire Seventh Fleet in an Operation against the Slavers of Torfan.**

 **Within an hour-and-a-half of the Relief of Elysium, the Seventh Fleet made contact with the remaining Pirate Elements above Torfan. Using Pin-Point Jumping (see. Relay Jumps in System), the Fleet arrived dangerously close and well within the Gravity Well of the Moon. Two Alliance Frigates were lost with all hands, and a Light Cruiser 'The Hellion' was crippled. However the Gambit paid-off, and the Alliance (retaining the Element of Surprise) Crippled or Sunk the majority of the Pirate Fleet in Orbit. Once Orbital Superiority was achieved, Hackett delivered a now infamous Ultimatum… Surrender or Die.**

 **What followed was one-hundred-and seventy-five hours of the most brutal combat in Human History. While Alliance Marines assaulted the bunkers on the Moon, the Batarians responded by Booby-trapping everything conceivable from buildings to captured prisoners and slaves, thus leading to severe casualty rates (in some Marine units) as high as Sixty-Five Percent. At the end of the Battle; nearly three-hundred-thousand Pirates lay dead, for the Loss of approximately Fifteen-Thousand Alliance personnel. Approximately one-hundred-and-fifty thousand slaves (of various Citadel Races) had been Liberated during the Operation, the numbers of dead slaves has been estimated to be at least twice that number.**

 **Citadel Analysts, have commented that it was the most brutal fighting the Galaxy had seen since the Krogan rebellions. Leading calls within the Turian Hierarchy to either dismantle all Human Military Forces, or alternately offer them a seat upon the Citadel Council, in an attempt to avoid a Galaxy wide conflict. Admiral Hackett is famously recorded warning the Batarians to cease funding any and all Slavers in the Traverse, "… we wouldn't want to see another Torfan happening on say… Khar'Shan… now would we?"**

 **The Batarian Hegemony has vehemently denied any and all accusations of collusion with Slavers and Pirate Factions within the Traverse. It is therefore ironic that the entirety of the 'Trade in Sentient Beings' is funded by the demand for Slaves within the Batarian Sphere of Influence (see. Batarian Caste System).**

* * *

 **My first Authors Note was one of Hope & Progress.**

 **This one… not so much.**

 **Here I'll be taking about the Brass Tacks as it were. I have Six stories currently being Typed Up. Only three of which are anywhere near ready. I also have a File full of Plot-Bunnies burning a Hole in my Desk. But that is neither here nor there. My update schedule shall run as follows:**

 **Prologue + Chapter 1 = 2017/01/31 & Chapter 2 = 2017/02/28**

 **My hope is to upload a Re-Edited Chapter once a Month at the end of the Month. Any news regarding my Plot Bunny File (Plot Bunnies Be GONE!), or my other stories will be dealt with in my next AN.**

 **To all the people following me I hope you have enjoyed this Chapter.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Date Published: 30/09/2013**

 **Date Re-Edited: 07/12/2016**

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **\- Arrival -**

* * *

 **+=Warp=+**

 **+=?=+**

 **Classified**

 **+=?=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 04.00.00]=+**

* * *

Perception.

Connection.

Threat.

The first step, was smothering, an overwhelming mental pressure.

 **+=[Chronograph: Failure]=+**

The second step, openness, an overwhelming spiritual vastness.

 **+=[Locator: Failure]= +**

The third step, he sensed… nothing.

 **+=[Auspex: Failure]= +**

The burning man, came to a halt.

 **+=[Command-net: Signal Lost]= +**

He turned to face those that followed him.

 **+=[Squad-net: Signal Lost]= +**

His eyes passed through each and every living soul.

 **+=[Error: Critical System Failure]= +**

As he turned to his squad, he saw the light in their crimson lenses die.

He saw through their chest-plates, beyond the flesh and bone.

Their hearts still beat a pure tune free of corruption.

He gazed into their minds, they were still their own.

He reached out to pluck their life lines.

Their souls still rang true.

He cast his witch-sight back, along the tunnel.

Back past immaterial league after immaterial league.

Far back into the chamber, back toward that golden throne.

As his spectral form crossed the threshold, he was blinded.

Before him there were two suns, they burned so bright.

The larger seemed to burn through the smaller one.

He couldn't bring his gaze upon the brightest sun.

He couldn't even touch the largest of the suns.

So he reached out toward the smaller star.

* * *

Malcador stood waiting at the base of the golden pyramid. He was becoming anxious. Sigmund's Squad had been gone for hours, they had lost all contact the moment his Squad had crossed the threshold into the Warp.

 _Should I send someone els-_

Something crossed the rippling barrier of energy, something the Sigillite couldn't see... so he opened his third-eye, and shifted his gaze into the realm of the Immaterium that lay beyond. To his astonishment, before him rose the majestic form a large spectral dragon, its long serpentine tail trailing behind it... back into the Webway. The ethereal creature raised its right forepaw, and – before the Sigillite could even raise his mental defences – the immensely powerful creature touched his forehead with its wickedly sharp claw.

 _My Lord_ , echoed the words… the thoughts of perhaps one of the most powerful minds he had ever come in contact with, _we have secured the other side of the portal. Armour systems are down and we have lost Vox-communication._

Realisation dawned within the Sigillite, _Sigmund?_

 _Affirmative,_ rumbled the spectral dragon emotionlessly within the confines of his mind.

Malcador was stunned; most Warp Constructs he had encountered over the course of his long life were creatures of pure emotion. Of Anger... of Rage... of Lust... but this… machine, was constructed – almost completely – out of pure willpower... a single pure thought untainted by any emotion. With that in mind the Sigillite turned to the Gate, and signalled Captain Braxton's Squad to move forward.

"I have made contact with Sergeant Sigmund; the threshold of the Webway is secure. You may proceed."

Captain Braxton signalled to his Command Squad to advance, in the Vanguard was the Ancient Domitian bearing the Company Battle-Standard, he and Sergeant Braellen were the first to cross the barrier…

* * *

Sigmunds thoughts turned back to his Squad, projecting his mind towards them, he passed on the words, _I have made contact with the Sigillite. They are sending the Command Squad through._

He felt a deep rooted feeling of disgust flare within the mind of Brother Julius at the smallest of his mental touches. He sent a sense of apathy back down the mental link, his distinct lack of empathy, warped that sense of strained feeling of disgust into a smouldering… burn of Anger.

Dismissing the fuming Julius and his impotent anger, to the back of his mind, Sigmunds focus turned back toward the rippling entrance of the Webway. With the Sigillite as his mental anchor, he was no longer cast about upon the temporal maelstrom that was the Warp. With clarity, he began to reach out toward the Command Squad individually with his mind. He reached out and touched the minds of the first Marines to cross the barrier that stood at the threshold of the Webway. He felt the measured and controlled thoughts of the Ancient Domitian – the Company Standard Bearer – and then he felt the sharp and tactical vision of First Sergeant Braellen, as his mind came into contact with his thoughts.

He began to pass on the information he had gathered on the surround Warp, but before he could finish the transfer, another being began to pass the barrier. He reached toward the latest arrivals and began to pass them-

A Continent of thought, shifted below their feet…

A tidal wave of emotion struck the Webway…

It was a Torrent... unending... implacable...

Again and again… Strike after strike…

It took all of his concentration…

To Hold onto the…

Fragile connection with Malcador…

And then…

Just as suddenly as it came...

The sea of emotion, just… ebbed away…

His mind turned back to his Squad, he could feel their confusion.

He reached out to sooth their-

The Continent surged upward again, and struck the Webway…

Shattering... fracturing... the connections to the Gateway…

And allowing the raw essence of the Warp…

To flood into the Palace through…

Horror...

Triumph...

Fear...

Success...

All these emotions and more bleed into the Webway...

Sigmund didn't feel any of that.

He didn't sense the barrier break.

And he did not witness the Horror…

That entered the gilded Labratorum.

He did not feel the outright panic of the hordes of Tech-Priests.

Or the utter sense of certainty within the minds of the Custodians.

All he felt… was pain.

All he felt was the agony… of his body being torn apart.

All he felt was the horror… as his soul was ripped to pieces.

Again and again…

Unendingly until…

The pain stopped…

He looked up to see –

A bolter levelled at his head.

" **What. Did. You. Do** ," screamed Julius his voice muffled through backup manual respirator built into his helm.

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Outskirts=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[06.00.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 06.00.00]=+**

* * *

"The perimeter is secure, Commander," came Kaiden's voice from somewhere behind the Commander.

They advanced down the gently sloping hill, until they reach a stream and began fording along it, straight into a dead-end.

"Damn… a landslide," Shepard muttered as she tried to climb her way over the blockage, "we'll have to hike around or mantle over that."

"Ummm… Commander," Jenkins tried to meekly interject, from the nearest bank of the stagnant river.

"Not now Jenkins, we need to find a way around this quickly."

"The thing is –"

"Private, if you try to disrupt my concentration one more time, I'll –"

"S'cuse me, Ma'am," began Kaiden placing himself between Jenkins and the volatile redhead, "but Constant, Eden Primes Capitol – and the objective – is in that direction."

Shepard looked back at the rockslide, noting that it seemed more... solid... at a second glance, and then in the direction Kaiden was pointing.

"Are you certain Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Commander," replied Alenko clearly and succinctly, as he brought up the Navigation Software on his Omni-Tool.

It didn't take a genius to see that the bright red arrow indicating their direction of travel was pointing in the opposite direction.

"Very well… carry on then," responded Shepard imperiously.

She advanced past her squad to take point, that her team couldn't see her face at the time was just a technicality. Which as it turned out had turned a rather interesting shade of crimson.

 _How embarrassing_ , thought Shepard mortified, _I didn't think my sense of direction was that bad._

Before they could get out of the blocked stream, the Comm sprang to life.

 **=This is Nihlus, keep your guard up. The Colony got hit hard.=**

They all took his warning to heart. The Squad began to move slower, with their rifles raised and their formation spread out... Shepard didn't want her entire squad taken out by a single rifle burst.

A minute later they rounded a small outcropping of rock; and Shepard brought the squad to a halt with a sharply raised fist. Ahead of the Squad was a thin strip of barren land, sandwiched between a steep drop-off (on the left) and a steep – almost vertical – cliff (on the right). The area ahead of them was liberally sprinkled with boulders... not much cover at all...

 _There is something wrong with this approach_ , thought Shepard warily, as she panned her Assault Rifle across the cliff-side.

"Jenkins, you take point," Shepard whispered as she gestured him forward, "no unnecessary risks."

Shepard had intended that they'd cover each other, as they advanced, leap-frogging from position to position until they reach the cover of the forest on the Hill.

It was a good plan…

 **Jenkins dashed forward…**

But as General Patton once said…

 **Shepard and Kaiden took cover…**

That no plan…

 **Jenkins leaped behind the cover again…**

No matter how good…

 **Jenkins tried to go just that little bit further…**

Survives first contact…

 **Fzzzt… BOOOM!**

Before Jenkins could react…

An EMP pulse dropped his shields…

The secondary blast slamming him down…

Into the ground, ripping his suit and pulping flesh…

Before the dust had settled…

Before they could reach Jenkins…

A pack of Drones strafed his fallen form…

Shredding the fallen Marine into bloody broken bits…

That left Shepard and Kaiden, exposed and on the defensive…

They ducked into cover, **fzzt – Bang** , then redeployed to a new position…

Put a burst into one, take cover over here, wait for your shields to recharge over there…

On and on this went; there seemed to be no end to the damn off-white circular drones...

After awhile her body just started going through the motions; fire, cover, repeat…

Then she swung round from cover, brought up her Rifle to find…

 **Nothing.**

They had eliminated all enemy contacts; Kaiden was already out of cover, before she could call him back.

He sprinted over to the fallen form of Jenkins, trying to check his vitals manually, hoping against hope.

A hope which flared in her chest, his suit-computer had flat-lined, but there was still a chance that –

Kaiden turned and shook his head bitterly…

"Damn-it!" the Sentinel cried pounding the ground with a clenched fist, "I should have scanned for Mines. That two-phase Tech-Mine was near god-damn textbook!"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Shepard muttered coldly, "your scans probably wouldn't have picked up anything… did you notice how our targeting suites were jammed after those blasts?"

She went down on one knee, and dragged a gauntlet through the pock-marked ground... small pieces of blackened shrapnel trickling through her fingers.

"We're dealing with intelligent mines made from weapons-grade superconducting materials here, they're probably going to be all but impossible to detect with our Omni-tools."

She reached down to Jenkins and pulled off his digi-tags, they were fastened to the inside of his armoured chest-piece. She'd keep them and submit them with her report... his more analog 'Dog-Tags' would remain with the body until the Alliance retrieved his remains for burial.

"Which begs the question," responded Kaiden flatly, his eyes never leaving the mortal remains of one Corporal Anthony Jenkins, "who fabricates disposable munitions from weapons-grade superconductors?"

The question was left unanswered, as they advanced cautiously up the hill toward the forest.

The two Biotics took turns firing kinetic-blasts at the ground between them and the hilltop.

If technology failed them, then they would fall back on a tried and true method.

The precision application of overwhelming destructive force…

* * *

 **+=Imperial Palace=+**

 **+=Himalayas=+**

 **Classified**

 **+=Labratorum=+**

 **+=[222.071.M31]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: + ?.?.?]=+**

* * *

Agony.

Retribution.

Purpose.

 **Pain** … all the Sigillite felt…

Pure… seemingly **endless** pain…

There was just… too much energy…

The Spectral Dragon?

 **Gone…**

Captain Braxton?

 **A carbon smear…**

What of Sergeant Sigmund where –

An image, appeared in his mind-eye…

The image, of… a bolter, levelled at his…

No… Sigmund's… head. The figure holding it…

…Warped…

…Twisted…

…Radiating…

...Anger...

…Malice…

…Hatred…

" **WHAT. DID. YOU. DO**!" bellowed the tainted figure.

His finger tightening upon the trigger until…

* * *

" **Noooo** ," screamed the Sigillite, his mind revolting against the horror of the vision... no... premonition.

Turning to his Custodian guardians he yelled, "we need to act."

Gripping his staff tightly, he used it as leverage to struggle to his feet.

"Take two of the Sisters," he instructed Fabius Durio abruptly, "Sigmund is imperilled by a tainted… creature."

Durio hesitated, "but my Lord, you –"

" **Go now** … before we are over-run!"

Durio deciding to act, he turned and signalled to a pair of nearby Sisters and Gordian (another bodyguard to the Sigillite), and charged the seething energies of the Portal. The Sigillite… exhausted… passed-out, into the arms of his remaining guardian. His dreams filled with visions of a red-headed woman floating before a glowing eldritch pylon... it's strange exotic viridian light seemed to shine through her…

* * *

Sigmund had often woken up to find something trying to kill him, like a twenty-foot giant scorpions for instance.

So when awoke to find Brother Julius, with a rather large looking bolter aimed directly at his skull. He really shouldn't have been that surprised, nothing bad had happened to him in awhile, so the universe was just waiting for an opportunity to throw a metaphorical lightning bolt at him. He gazed into the twisted mind of fallen marine before him, what he saw filled him with nothing but the deepest sense of disgust.

So… he began to reach down… deep within himself.

He soon realised he had more than enough raw energy…

Permeating through him that he could obliterate this...

This feeble little speck before him… with but a thought.

All it would take was –

And then he felt it… the construct flexed and cracked bellow him.

Only then did he realise the true danger they really were all in...

All it would take, to break the bonds holding the construct together.

All it would take… was one more **Death**.

All it would take… was one more **Soul**.

All it would take… was one more **Sacrifice**.

And this entire section of the Webway would collapse… casting them all into the chaotic ocean of the warp. He had to talk the deranged Marine down; they couldn't risk anymore blood being spilt.

"Calm down, Brother. You need to listen to –"

 **Crack!**

Julius struck out at the Sergeant, with the butt of his bolter, knocking him down and splitting the skin on the left-hand temple.

" **No**! You Listen. Finally I will be rewarded. Finally they all will see the **Truth**. The Emperor in all his wisdom knew –"

In his concussed state, Sigmund didn't hear the rest of the rant... or whatever the Warp-addled Marine had to say… to be honest he didn't much care what the little shit had to say. In his confused and concussed state the only voice that went through his mind was his own.

 _Where is my helmet?_

On his hands and knees, he swept his gaze drunkenly from side to side, looking for his errant headgear.

 _Where is… why isn't Julius wearing his…?_

There next to –

His eyes were drawn to the form of Grammaticus hunched over, and tending to a clearly wounded Braellen, and lying next to them was an almost catatonic Domitian. It showed true dedication that – even unconscious – the Ancient still held the company standard in a near immovable death-grip. The rest of the Squad… were scattered about the tunnel... floating… drifting… frozen... trapped in Time, like a cloud of flies in Amber. He left Julius to continue his rant, while he returned his helm to its proper place.

He needed to gather his forces and marshal his faculties.

He needed to stem the flow of warp energies, which were bleeding into the Webway.

He began to reach out with his mind towards his trapped squad-mates. The first mind he touched was that of Grammaticus, he then felt the **pain crippled** mind of Braellen, and he then touched the **blank** mind of the **catatonic** Domitian. Sensing the empty wound that was the Veteran Marines mind, Sigmund felt for the fractured pieces of his fractured mind... after a moment... after an eternity... he finally began to piece Domitian's identity back together. While tending to his fallen brothers psyche... his own mind continued to reach out searching for his other brothers – lost... scattered through time.

Each **mind** he touched felt like **treacle** ; thick and slow… first he found Merrik, then Gaius. He kept searching for the **sluggish** thoughts, the skewed perceptions of those that were trapped in time. He found Vespasion and Greavus at the exact same instant, but it took him several agony filled minutes… or was it hours… of searching, until he finally found… ah... at last Delaphor.

But before he could draw them back into real time, a palpable sense of dread began to fill the halls and pathways of the Webway. The Tunnel began to solidify, and stabilize, but the Marines remained trapped outside the flow of time. Trying to find the source of this phenomenon, he looked behind Julius and his heart sank into a deep pit that had formed in the very bottom of his stomach.

Behind the unhinged Marine, advanced a malevolent pair of women upon the unsuspecting and ignorant… **fool**. As they advanced he felt the warp energies leave him, sapping his strength, as he became blind to the swirling maelstrom around him. The Silent Sisters were unaware of what effect they had on the surrounding Warp, a construct made purely of Warp-Energies and Will that couldn't exist in the enforced Real-space surrounding the Pariahs. His warp-strength leaving him, he sank to his knees, and collapsed feebly to the bottom of the Tunnel.

"Noooo…" he begged… pleaded weakly as the first sister drove her power-sword through Julius, his pack and out of his chest-plate.

Stunned... the tainted Marine dropped his bolter, as the Sister stepped back withdrawing her now crimson blade. The trauma of the injury began to make itself known, as his legs gave out. His hearts torn, his spines severed, and the power-supply for his armour dead. Julius's form sank down to the tunnel floor; **shock** the only emotion that seemed to find any purchase upon his rapidly paling visage.

A shadow fell upon his face, as the two sisters stood over his crumpled form. The very last thing he saw, as the second Sister brought her down in a descending arch toward his throat, were the names upon their armoured collars.

 **Wyrd and Andlat.**

 _ **Fate and Death.**_

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Outskirts=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[23.17.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 23.17.00]=+**

* * *

Advance.

Encounter.

Horror.

Silence; filled with naught but the muffled crunch of vulcanised rubber-soles passing over dry – long dead – leaves, under the vaulted canopy of a thickly forested hill. Between the heavy closely woven branches; two figures were seen advancing in between the gnarled trees, hugging the trunks and bowls, spurning what little open ground could be seen.

What little light that could pass through the thick canopy, was deathly weak. The light was blotted out by the thatch work of leaves... the raging maelstrom of fire and lightning above them all, which swirled around an abysmal black… _**creature**_ , hovering above the Capital… Constant hidden from view. As they advanced through the forest, the strange dual-toned voice of Nihlus came across the radio again, the interference doing its damndest to make his words sound even more otherworldly.

He had frightening news. He had found civilians, or at least their charred remains anyway, cut-down right next to the defending forces. With this terrible news guiding their actions, the solitary pair advanced with steely determination toward the edge of the forest, and crouched behind a boulder just beyond the edge of the tree-line. The edge of which rested upon the crest of the hill, which then sloped down gently into a small crevice below.

Shepard stopped and raised her left-arm; the orange glow of her Omni-tool quickly sprang to life. She examined the map of the area (a map that she had already memorised back in the garage on the Normandy), to see that the dig-site was only accessible (from this direction anyway) by the small gorge down below. She was about to signal Kaiden to advance, when –

 **BA-BA-BA-BANG!**

A panicked soldier wearing white ( _and… was that pink?_ ) armour, ran out of the Gorge... she was being chased by a pair of flying drones up towards the hill. Suddenly she tripped… and just when Shepard thought that Barbie was done for…

She tumbled, rolled…

Rose up on one knee…

Brought up her side-arm…

And blew those drones away…

 _Whoa… impressive, now get out of there,_ thought Shepard tactically _, wait… what is she doing. No don't stop stare… at… the –_

Some robots had grabbed a nearby 'Civie', and were dragging him toward some kind of squat cylinder on a tri-pod. They held him over the rounded end of the device, and…

 _My God it was horrible…_

The machines then turned their cyclopean attention on the lone – and very pink – marine, and began to open fire.

Shepard and Kaiden charged –

No-words need be said at all–

Down the hill, point blank –

They need not feel any fear –

 **BANG**

The sound of gunfire, the flash of Biotics…

No need to ask for mercy or surrender…

No need for control, finesse or subtlety...

And then… it was over. Nearly a dozen of those strange alien corpses lay strewn across the field, cast aside like leaves in the wind... left to fall where they died. Shepard knelt down on one knee to examine the dead aliens, a strange white fluid was seeping from the dead creatures wounds. She drew a finger through the fluid and brought it up to her nose.

 _It smelt of… synthetic grease?_

"What are they, Commander?" Kaiden enquired, from his position guarding their left flank.

"I think these things are Geth," muttered Shepard incredulously, surprised by how factual she could make such a confused statement sound… especially when she wasn't even sure of the facts herself.

"But… the Geth haven't been seen beyond the Persius Veil, in almost three hundred years," interrupted the still unidentified Marine, "um… sorry, ma'am. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212th."

Almost ignoring Williams, Kaiden responded with… confusion, "Geth? What are they doing on Eden Prime?"

"One problem at a time, L-T," Shepard interjected diplomatically, "first off… Chief where's the **rest** of your Squad?"

Ashley hung her head, " **Gone** … we were on patrol, when the attack started. We tried to regroup with the rest of the Division at our Barracks, but…"

Silence pervaded the clearing until Ashley sighed and explained that, "we were ambushed trying to reach the main fallback position. We tried to send out a distress call, h-huh, but they have been blocking all of our Comms. I don't know if we managed to transmit the Vid or not. We tried to withdraw to a more defensible position, but… they just cut us to ribbons…"

"It's okay Chief... it got through," Shepard replied as she placed her free hand on the suffering women's shoulder… it was clear that the Marine blamed herself for surviving… when the rest of her Squad… well, let's just say that she knew that feeling well; "the best thing to do is complete the mission. We need to do what we can… **here and now**."

Shepard turned to Kaiden, Williams wasn't the only one that needed purpose right now, "we can mourn the fallen later, for now we have a mission to complete. We need to get to that dig-site."

Ashley seemed to perk up slightly at this, "when the Beacon was found, my Division was deployed to guard the Site. I can lead you there."

 _Damn_ , thought Shepard angrily, _word probably got out about the Beacon before we could even get out of dry-dock…_

"Lead the way," Shepard instructed her new Squad mate.

* * *

 **+=Warp=+**

 **+=? ? ?=+**

 **Classified**

 **+=? ? ?=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 09.18.00]=+**

* * *

Visions.

Cataclysm.

Retreat.

He floated on a Sea of energy.

The current was swift and strong.

He was being swept along and away.

The energy current was brutal and chaotic.

He had no anchor, no guidance, no support, he –

 _ **A Tug.**_

 _ **A Pull.**_

 _ **A Gentle Grasp.**_

At the core of his very soul.

Contact.

Intimate.

Sanctuary.

He was drawn – downward – toward an eldritch pulsing vein.

He drew the calming energy from the link into himself.

His vision flickered and changed, his senses grew.

No longer trapped within his mortal flesh.

The realm of mortal senses shrank.

He saw all within the artery.

 _Webway_ , his memory provided.

He saw all within the Webway, he saw the flickering souls within.

He was drawn toward the brightest figure on his knees.

The tunnel was filled with silvery veins of light.

Dozens of twisted lines extending outward.

At the centre, lay a blue dragon.

His soul touched everyone.

Everyone except…

The only creature that his soul didn't touch… was an ugly, twisted, broken thing.

A sense of wrongness pervaded his mind, as hideous twisting energies, snaked along its form.

The energy poisoned everything around it; it poisoned his soul and his mind.

He reached out toward the dragon, he recognised, his task was vital; crucial.

He must succeed, he must –

A hand closed around his wrist.

He turned… and beheld an Angel.

A being made of pure energy and light.

Flowing through her robes and across the…

Hieroglyphs that wreathed her form in energy.

Flowing across her entire being from head to toe.

 _He must fail or succeed on his_ _ **own**_ _,_ spoke a feminine voice – a voice that sounded like ringing crystal – she spoke directly into his mind.

 _I have seen… we cannot let him fail,_ wept the man across their link.

 _So have I,_ soothed the spectral angel, calming the seething turmoil within his mind with warm trickle of soothing memories... fleeting... ethereal... indistinct.

She turned back to the psychological duel continuing bellow them; she looked upon this grand spectacle and saw the final players of this act approaching.

 _And so the curtain rises on our little play,_ spoke the angelic vision, _I must leave to await my cue._

And so the spectre of serenity departed leaving the lone watcher bereft, to continue on with his morbid task. Bellow a new party approached the battle of wills, two shining giants and a pair of… wounds within the warp. The walls of the Webway thinned and trembled at their approach... at the approach of these monstrous titanic entities. The wounds broke off from the shadows of the pair of giants and charged ahead, to strike down the twisted-one. Moments later the broken body of the twisted-one fell to the ground, one of the shadows raised a shard of malice, and **struck** –

* * *

Raw energy flooded into the Webway, as the **Death** of Brother Julius **shattered** the walls of reality holding this small segment of real-space together... holding back the unending torment that was the warp. The nightmarish denizens of that twisted hell-scape of a realm began to flood into the Webway, only to break harmlessly against the armour of the defenders. The field of enforced real-space that surrounded the Silent Sisters began breaking the bonds of psychic energy that held the Daemons together. None of the nightmarish creatures could reach the figures within the Webway, but their continued attacks began to eat away at the psychic walls holding this small pocket of real-space together.

Sigmund reached for the Warp Device, it was their only hope, for the way back had been **Lost** to them.

He pressed the second bevelled button, and he felt a surge of energy travelling up his arm. He channelled and corralled the raging energy into the very centre of his chest, at the very **Apex** of flowing Norse-like script upon his Runic-power armour. It built and built within his chest, his body fighting against the raging surreal energies and the influence of the enforced real-space that surrounded him, struggling for dominance within him. His body was **torn** ; his mind **divided** , he **struggled** to channel the seemingly infinite raw energy from the warp device, and defend his psyche from the feral psychic attacks of the denizens of the Warp, all at the same time.

As the battle continued to rage within the halls of his mind, the strain just grew and grew, as the struggle between the real and unreal realties was slowly tearing him apart. As the energy levels grew and grew, it threatened to tear its fleshy vessel apart, violently releasing the pent-up power in his chest.

A single thought pulsed through his mental link between him and his Squad.

 _I must hold._

 _I must hold._

 _I must hold._

 _I must hold._

 _I must hold._

 _ **I MUST HOLD!**_

The device emptied the final trickle of pure warp energy into the body of the poor Marine Sergeant. His soul began to ring and **echo** throughout the caverns of the Webway, with a single **pure** crystalline **Note**.

Sensing the inevitable, he speared his consciousness – outward – searching for the Custodians and the Sisters of Silence. The very essence of the Sisters and their existence tore at the fraying edges of his mind, trying to undo all that he had accomplished through his Warp-Sorcery.

Unbidden the pure **Note** continued to grow, and grow, eventually reaching a most deafening crescendo. The feral energies snatched away the broken corpse of Brother Julius, casting his broken body from sight. With a blinding flash, his Sorcery ripped them from the Warp, casting them all blindly into Real-space.

* * *

When his sight returned, Sigmund found himself prone – on his hands and knees – lying at the edge of a small grassy clearing.

He tried to reach out with his mind, to survey his surroundings, when a **blinding pain** spiked and burnt all conscious thought from his mind. He withdrew from the flow of energy around him, and the mind numbing pain receded. Obviously his journey through the Warp, had left behind more than enough scars... some physical... some mental. The pain was excruciating... far beyond even the tolerances of his super-human biology... it prevented him from channelling the Energy of the Warp through his mind; without it, he couldn't access his abilities… it left him completely blind... as if one of his senses had been ripped from him... a sense that he had only just gotten back.

He looked down at the small Warp Device in his hand, flipping the open its ornate cover, to reveal that all energy within the Device had been spent. He looked to his left and then to his right, he could find neither sign nor trace of his Squad. He lifted his gaze from the grass beneath his boots... his shield lay there, flat on the ground... he quickly picked it up and ran a systems check of his Armour.

Most of it still functioned, more or less, the plates had cracked, his left pauldron had warped and his right knee servo was sticking. However Sigmund had more pressing issues... he found himself on a small grassy knoll, he had no idea where he was... he quickly swept his eyes across the small forest at his back to the gleaming city on the edge of the Horizon searching for a land-mark he could recognize.

He didn't find one, but his eyes were irrevocably drawn towards the giant beetle-black leviathan that drifted inverted like an ancient Kraken in the centre of a biblical maelstrom.

At the sight of the malevolent leviathan, a memory stirred within the caverns of his battered mind... a handful of words spoken in parting; _it will become apparent in time…_

 _ **The Scrolls…**_

He reached into the satchel at his waist blindly, and pulled out the first cylinder that the palm of his hand came in contact with. He pulled out the bronzed scroll, and gazed upon the intricate crimson wax seal. It bore a stylized double 'I' within the intricately embossed seal, the bronze casing was engraved with the imagery of two entwined dragons, feral in appearance, both circling the other. Without further thought he broke the seal and opened the scroll. It looked like someone had taken the time to transcribe a short message into high Gothic... it was stilted and lacked any form of prose...

It was Six Lines of absolute Gibberish...

 **Tutus vestri M** **aniplus** **est**

 **Reperio Beacon**

 **Sequi Shepard**

 **Persequeris in Spectrum**

 **Revela** **L** **ancea in Peregrinorum**

 **Et mente capi et una cum Concilii ... in partem tuam**

Wonderful, clearly this had been translated by a machine... or some trying to be deliberately Cryptic... no matter it was the work of but a moment to decipher, the first line read:

 **Tutus vestri M** **aniplus** **est**

Which roughly translated to; _Safe Your Squad is..._ easily enough, the second however was not so easy.

 **Reperio Beacon**

 _Detect Beacon..._ or maybe _; Ascertain?_ Or perhaps in this context it would be... _find the Beacon..._

 **Sequi Shepard**

 _To follow Shepard_... then again it could possibly be a job title and not a name, so perhaps it is; _Follow the Sheepherder_... or not. That one would require further thought...

 **Persequeris in Spectrum**

Now that's a tricky one... Hmmn... 'Persequeris'... the base of that is 'Persequor'... Break that up and you get 'Per', which means **through** and 'Sequor' which means **follow**... so; follow through the Spectre? That's even more confusing than the last... never-mind, next.

 **Revela** **L** **ancea in Peregrinorum**

No... just no... that just looks all wrong... 'Revela' means _reveal_... 'Lancea' could mean _Lance or Spear_... and 'in Peregrinorum' could mean; _to the Pilgrim_... which leaves me with something so highly suspect, if I were to ever attempted such a thing in Public... **NEXT.**

 **Et mente capi et una cum Concilii ... in partem tuam**

This one's very tricky... let's work our way backwards... Hmmn... 'In partem tuam' that's; _your share_ or perhaps _to share_... now the first part again... 'Concilii' is _Council_... in this sentence it is most likely; _were arrested and together with the Council_... No... that's not it at all. Perhaps the last part changes the meaning; _to share_... **wait**... maybe it's not a Group but an idea... _to share your Council with_... with what... _the Arrested One? The Imprisoned One...?_ That makes even less sense...

 _Damn it... none of this gives me any actionable Intel!_

 _Your Squad is Safe... fine that's a weight off my Chest, but it doesn't say where they are?_

 _Sequi Shepard_ _and_ _Persequeris in Spectrum_ _... is so out of context they may as well be drivel..._

 _Revela Lancea in Peregrinorum... not even going there..._

 _The final line was less of an Order and more of a Directive..._

 _So that leaves... Find the Beacon..._

 _What Beacon?_

…and then suddenly Sigmund sensed **it** , on the very edge of his mindscape, resting upon the very edge of his half-blinded witch-sight, a small trickle of the Warp Energy bleeding into this reality. **It** was barely there, so weak and inactive; flowing straight and true across the lay-lines of this world, a nexus of the power that was near the very heart of the burning city. It glowed like a star on the Horizon... a Marker... a Waypoint... A Beacon...

Sigmund now knew the course he had to take...

So he rose up from his dirty and scuffed knees to his full height - his scuffed shield in one hand, his battered bolter in the other - without any conscious thought or direction he quickly began to run one quick final systems-check of his war-gear. Once he was sure it was all still intact, he racked the bolt on his bolter, and began his **inexorable** march toward the glistening city upon the Horizon.

And from the crest of the hill behind him, two solitary figures watched. A brown-cloaked figure with an organic looking bone-white rifle trained upon the back of the retreating form of Sergeant Sigmund, and the Astral form of the First Lord of Terra.

 _ **Malcador the Sigillite.**_

* * *

 **Code Entry: Time Travel**

 **For centuries Citadel Scientists have debated the 'Theoretical Existence of Alternate Realities and Time-Travel'. Salarian Scientists first postulated the 'Improbability of Time Travel' that – simply put – the very action of utilising a Time Machine would alter the events leading up to the Development and/or Deployment of the Time Machine itself and/or alter the events of the individuals whom developed the machine, etc. Ergo/Therefore the moment a Time Machine is activated; it would cease to exist. It wasn't until Dr. Sari D'Lan (an Asari Physicist) postulated the 'Existence of Alternate Realties and/or Plains of Existence', that actual time, effort and research was expended upon the Concept. From that research, a Theoretical Particle, the "Tachyon" (in English) was first postulated (approximately 325 Standard Years ago). Over the centuries many countless individuals have claimed or asserted to have either observed or recorded Tachyons in a variety of interstellar phenomenon. It wasn't until the 11** **th** **of February 2183 (see. Human – 'Gregorian Calendar'), that the First – and Second (if not disputed) – recording of Tachyons occurred aboard the 'SSV Normandy' during the Geth Assault on Eden Prime (see. 'The Saren Affair'/'First Battle of the Citadel'). It would later be determined that Tachyons, were one of the many forms of radiation emitted (and observed) during Warp Transit (see. Warp Tech/Teleporter/Gellar Field).**

* * *

 **Codex Entry: Sigmund "The Terrible" Tyrannus**

 **Citadel News Network: 23** **rd** **March 2184**

 **Audio Transcript:**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **So Captain, with almost two Centuries of combat experience under your belt, you must have some interesting stories.**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **Well… there was this one time. We were about to conduct an inspection of some representative Council, on a Moon above their home Planet. So… there we were. Flying in on this little Stormbird, and out of no~where… we start getting radar locks, and the Sky just filled with Flak. We~ll… at least I think it was a radar lock. I was standing at the door. I heard a Beep, then a Bang, and felt a Bump. After that the world just started spinning as I went ass-over-tea-kettle out the door.**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **My word that does sound harrowing… I suppose you were wearing some sort of arresting gear?**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **Na~ah, all I had was an out dated Mark III, the trees broke my fall. The Jungle was mostly Sub-Tropical, vines and conifers and such. So I get down out of a tree, and boy… was I pissed. We were there as diplomats, we were there to discuss terms and bring the system into Compliance, and here these bastards were shooting at us. It's-**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **Sorry to interrupt Captain… but could you please explain the term "Compliance?"**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **Not a problem miss Wong, standard Imperial military practice, during the Great Crusade (otherwise known as the Great Unification) was to Scout out each system systematically. When a Civilisation or Lost Culture was found, we would give them a choice, join us or else. If they said no, we'd send a fleet to force them to join us. Either way once they agreed to our terms, an Imperial delegation would be dispatched (usually spear-headed by a Space Marine detachment) to ensure that they complied with Imperial Law. Brutal I know, but all we truly enforced upon them was an interpretation of Imperial Law.**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **Could you explain the legal requirements of Imperial Law further.**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **Well, it's not exactly set in stone. It's more a series of loosely interpreted conditions required for Compliance.**

 **The first requirement was the Rule of Law. A loose interpretation of the Magna Carta; the right to own property, the right to a fair trial, and so on and so forth.**

 **The second requirement was Imposition of Civilisation and Planetary Governance. To extrapolate further on that; we would impose structure upon Anarchy, the observation and monitoring of Psychically Gifted individuals, and other such measures to create a semblance of Order and to prevent incursions of Warp Entities into Real-Space.**

 **Then we would appoint a Planetary Governor to manage the planet and if necessary the system. If the World is sufficiently advanced and unified, we would appoint the overall ruler of that World as Planetary Governor. If the world is divided or not significantly advanced enough an outside governor would be appointed.**

 **The Final Requirement is the application of the Imperial Tithe. The Tithe is simply a logistical requirement. There are several grades within the Tithe; each corresponding to either a certain size of population, a specific resource unique to that world, or a certain type of technological development. These resources would be used to govern the System and provide further resources for the Great Crusade.**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **What about those worlds that do not have significant population or resources, would the Tithe still be applied to them?**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **Of course we wouldn't impose unreasonable requirements upon such worlds. There is a Tithe Grade – Adeptus Non – it roughly translates to 'not applicable.' These worlds would not be required to contribute and would actually be eligible to receive outside resources to provide the necessary protection and services for governance. My home-world of Sycorax, fell under the Tithe Grade of Adeptus Non. It is a Death World and as such could not physically provide resources beyond subsistence levels for the population. But I digress, you wanted to hear a Swash-buckling tale of adventure and here we turn to talk of standard government procedures…**

 **So... the reason I was so 'upset' was… well they had already agreed to join us, we were there to discuss terms, without even the threat of violence. So there we where, on a Diplomatic Mission, on Neutral Ground, and they were shooting at us. This little hell-hole we were meeting on didn't even have a name, it was just a little moon (an extra-solar capture) best maybe described as a dwarf planet. The damn thing was smaller than Pluto. However it still had a biosphere, transplanted from its parent planet, Varestus Prime. The place had scorpions the size of main battle tanks, everything on that place was either poisonous or carnivorous, even the plants! So there I was, on foot, basically trying to triangulate the radar guided flak batteries, by trying to 'eye-ball' it.**

 **So I tracked down one of the flak-guns, I killed the crew, and tapped into their Comms. I managed to find where the enemy commander was going to be. What I found was his extraction point, so I headed over and got ready waiting for him at the LZ. He showed up six hours later, as I was about engage, this little stubby V-TOL flew over me. The pilot landed in the clearing and rotated the nose of the craft to face me, head-on. I had a choice; let him get on that craft, or take out the shuttle. If he flew away we'd never catch him, but if I shot now he'd bolt and I'd lose him. Either way it was a lose-lose situation.**

 **So… I took the Shot. Right through the Canopy. In such a confined space, it was like a grenade going off in a fuel drum. The shuttle hit the ground, blew sky-high, and the enemy general bugged-out of there faster than a Politian from the Truth.**

 **(Audio Disruption: General Chuckling)**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **So they fled into the Jungle. His men weren't prepared for that environment, they were dropping like flies. They left a trail of bodies – a mile wide – right to their camp. But by the time we got there, I had pursued them across three not-quite-continents, and I had exhausted all my ammo. After a dozen ambushes the enemy had set for me, and the local flora and fauna, I didn't have a single bolter round to my name.**

 **There I was, looking for a way to get to him, and all I had was an empty bolter, my trusty combat knife, and a rusty entrenching shovel – that I had picked up from a corpse a few miles back. So I started hunting them, first I trapped them. I took out their vehicles, then their pilots and their Enginseers.**

 **Then I went after their leaders, first their platoon leaders, and then their squad leaders. At this point, the enemy commander started panicking, and he just started throwing his men at me. I had to fight through an entire battalion. Lucky me, they didn't have any anti-armour weapons so they couldn't even put a scratch on me. I finally got to the enemy commander and in desperation he tried to fight me in hand-to-hand. Needless to say it didn't work. After I killed the Commander, I moved to secure the camp. Not a single soldier remained. I had killed the entire enemy force, with nothing but a combat knife, an empty bolter and a rusty shovel.**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration, Captain?**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **I suppose your right, maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration…**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **So what happened to the people of-**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **It wasn't that rusty.**

 **Emily Wong:**

 **Er… I beg your pardon?**

 **Captain Sigmund:**

 **The Shovel… it wasn't tha~t rusty.**

* * *

 **There you go, Chapter 2 – "Arrival" of** _ **Upon the Wings of Eagles…**_ **and on a lighter note always Google the name of whatever your about to publish, before ya publish it. I found that out the hard way when I gave them the Keywords to Google my story and they came across;** _ **On the Wings of Eagles**_ **, an Assassin Creed Fic instead. Since I felt that this Chapter was a little short I added a little 'Omake' thingie ma-whatzits at the end of the Codex Entry, hope you enjoy it (for reference it takes place a year after the events in my Story). Anyhoo… thank you all for your Reviews, they are much appreciated, and I agree there was too much bold, I was weak, I have joined a support group, and I will no-longer binge on bolded words… that much… kinda like now. To respond to one of the better critiques, I'm sorry I didn't notice the misuse of "there" and "they're" and I will focus – grammatically – on these more in the future. To the other Trolls, which fortunately I only have an infestation of one so far, if you do not like my story… then don't read it. To those of you who do enjoy my stories… Thank You… and I will be posting Chapter 3 – "First Contact" on the 15 of September (15/09/2013), please review.**

* * *

 **Sorry for the lack of an update last month things were... hectic.  
**

 **As recompense I am uploading the first Chapter in my new story: Atlas Unbound.**

 **It is a Warhammer 40K / Stargate: Atlantis Crossover.**

 **I'm trying a new style of writing.**

 **Less description more dialog.**

 **Shorter Chapters... much like this Authors Note.**

 **Thanks for Reading, next update expected on 30/04/2017... hopefully.**

 **P.S. there might be a slight delay in the next couple of Chapters due to Mass Effect Andromeda... we thank you for your patience.**

 **P.P.S. That was sarcasm.**

 **P.P.P.S. Obviously.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Date Published: 15/09/2013**

 **Date Re-Edited: 08/12/2016**

* * *

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **\- First Contact -**

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Outskirts=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[48.23.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 48.23.00]=+**

* * *

Contact.

Search and Recover.

Horror.

The impromptu squad proceeded into the depression, ignoring the ghastly spikes – and the poor impaled 'Civie'– that the machines had so brutally executed, sat festering on their left flank.

They advanced toward the edge of the Excavation, which was quite honestly as silent as a **grave** , through into the even more **deathly** silence of the open Trench which lay beyond. The only thing that greeted them was the bare ragged earth and a series of **broken** boulders, **scattered** like **bleached bones** under the **pale** scattered sunlight seeping through twisted storm overhead.

Shepard moved up, Kaiden flanking her on the right and Ashley brought up the rear. They advanced almost silently over the rough sandy ground, each of them hunched over an assault rifle. The shuffle… crunch – of their vulcanised armoured boots – the only sound in the dusty and – seemingly – deserted cavernous confines of the ever widening trench.

"No contacts," whispered Kaiden from his position behind the Commander, breaking the tenuous **silence**.

They were **exposed** …

Out in the **open** …

However…

There were no Contacts… Enemy or otherwise… _So far so good –_

 **Gr-Chirp-Gurble-Chirp-Screeeeee!**

Instinctively Shepard activated her Barrier… and Charged.

An orange orb – flew past her head – striking a Geth on her right.

She brought up her Rifle, and squeezed the Trigger.

She put a burst into the Geth in front of her.

She kept running, the mulched Geth forgotten.

Its shields down, its chest pulped and the light fading from its lone orb.

Still running… Still firing… her shield still flaring…

Rounds puffing up dust around her pistoning legs…

Shepard slid into Cover –

 **Pock – Bang!**

– a Geth, trying to sneak up on her flank, dropped like a stone… its chest cavitated by a hypersonic round.

"Target down," Ashley informed calmly over the Squad Comms.

"Confirmed," was Shepard's cold, almost mechanical, reply.

Her eyes were locked down the Barrel of her Rifle, her eyes spent an age roving down range.

Panning left to right… right to left… the seconds seemed to stretch into an **Eternity**.

Until… she put a burst from her Rifle, into a notch in the Canyon wall.

She saw a shield flare, brightly…

She heard the buzz of her rounds impacting…

She heard the glass-like sound as the shield shattered…

 **Pock…**

"Clear," Ashley called from the rear, stowing her Sniper Rifle, in favour of her Avenger Carbine.

"Moving up," Kaiden informed the Squad, as he drew his Pistol and took point.

Shepard approached the notch in the small-Canyon wall, as she got closer she noticed that it was far too regular to be natural. They stacked up around the oddly symmetrical opening; Kaiden swept the open aired chamber ahead with his Omni-tool… only to find… nothing. **No** heat, **no** life-signs, **no** movement.

"It's clear," Kaiden declared, as he waved the squad in, so they could check the chamber visually.

Shepard however hung back – near the strange megaliths around the digs entrance – scanning the edges of the excavation above her.

 _Clear, no signs of Geth, but if they weren't here then…_

She scanned the Chamber… only three artificial-looking structures stood out…

A triumvirate of very smooth strange looking pillars… _Alien._

An earthen ramp leading up around and behind the dig… _probably Human._

And a smooth concave circular Dias set into the floor beneath their feet… _definitely Alien._

That just left…

"Where's the Beacon," Kaiden muttered irritably, voicing the general opinion of the – clearly exasperated – Squad.

With a growl Ashley snapped, "the Scientists must have moved it… the Science Camp is up ahead… maybe we can find it there."

Shepard could hear the stress in the Chief's voice; it seemed to be getting **worse** , and the longer they waited here the more irritable she seemed to get. But before she could move to reassure the Marine, the Squads Radio sprang to life. Someone was trying to contact them, but the channel was heavily distorted by… static.

 **=*[Static]* He–*[Static]* –stance. Change of *[Static]* –ans *[Static]*=**

The rest of the message was completely garbled, Shepard looked to Kaiden. He gave her a nod and started tapping away at his Omni-tool.

"It's the walls," he muttered, still typing away at his Omni-Tool, "They made of... something laced with a Lead-like substance, give me a minute here..."

About thirty seconds later, the message repeated, much clearer this time... it was Nihlus…

 **=Have encountered heavy resistance. Change of plans Shepard… I'm diverting to a small Tram-Station. It has a major Geth presence. We'll rendezvous there… Confirm?=**

"I read you Nihlus… Confirmed," replied Shepard into her Helmet communicator.

 **=Confirmed… Nihlus out=** came the Turians reply, it sounded slightly eerie… the dual warble of the Spectres voice was nearly as bad as the interference, especially when heard over a partially distorted audio feed.

"Who's Nihlus," Ashley inquired, after all that the poor young Marine had been through today… it wasn't surprising that she was a little bit suspicious of their so-far unseen support.

"Our back-up," Shepard quipped, rather glibly not in the mood to answer questions while they were still under the gun, "let's move."

They hadn't moved more than a foot, before Kaiden warned, "This is the perfect place for an ambush… keep your guard up."

The Commander couldn't help but agree, so they quickly regrouped and formed up on Shepard, as she led the way up the dirt ramp and into the smouldering Science Camp. As they rounded the corner – _**Damn**_ – smack-dab in front of them were three more 'civies' impaled on those **God-awful** devices.

The place had been trashed… what hadn't been knocked down was on **fire** … what wasn't on fire had been **blown apart** … and what was left… well… it seemed to be a ghastly mixture of all three. Except for the 'civies' on spikes the rest of the bodies seemed to have been burnt well beyond any hope of recognition. Quite a grim sight… only two of the half-dozen pre-fab structures in the entire Camp were still standing, and as they tried to moved toward them –

One of the corpses on a Spike… _**twitched**_. Shepard – with a distinct sense of horror – noticed that its skin was peeling off... exposing a rash of dark twisted bluish-grey necrotic flesh bellow. It looked like they had been dead for weeks, but -

The Spike started to descend. The corpses skin and clothing hung in tatters from its shattered limbs... with rags hanging off of its twisted frame. The spike reached bottom and – _**Oh-my-God**_ – the corpse stood. Its hair had fallen out in clumps, and its eyes were long since gone... the creatures sockets glowed a terrible soulless blue. To their ever mounting horror the twisted… _**Husk**_ … started to shamble forward… slowly... limply... like some kind of twisted puppet on knotted strings. The other two... Husks... descended – on their oen Spikes – like a pair of wingless **desiccated** angels, quickly joining the first. Then… **it**... noticed them…

Time seemed to stand still…

It then opened its mouth…

And let loose a shriek…

A terrifying soulless…

Gut-retching, mind…

Numbing, shriek…

And then it…

 **Charged…**

"Open fire," Shepard screamed viciously.

They all open fire.

Full-auto, the Husks stopped.

Stumbled, and then crumpled to the ground.

After another half dozen 'double taps,' just to be sure, and Shepard raised her fist. The squad quickly ceased fire, she open her hand – palm out – and flicked it left and right. Ashley and Kaiden, with swift - deft - movements, took up positions on her flanks, as they advanced toward the first pre-fab. Only to find that… it was empty.

"Ashley, the door, Kaiden the wall-safe," Shepard directed her Team with well-practiced ease, as she moved toward some crates at the back against the wall, "prioritise any Medi-gel you find."

Like a well oiled machine – that belied the rough patchwork nature of her squad – they split-up and began going about their tasks. Ashley – her head on a swivel – watched the door, Kaiden – the orange glow of his Omni-tool giving him an almost daemonic appearance – easily hacked the wall-safe. And Shepard… we~ell… she would be best described thus: in every Fantasy Book ever written there was Swashbuckling, Witty Banter and – finally – the time honoured tradition of Looting the Dead. Shepard was doing the latter… just without the corpses… it was more like picking the lock on a 'high-tech' treasure chest.

And less than a minute later; they had broken down the smaller Mods into Omni-gel, filled up all the Slots in their Medi-gel, and flagged what they couldn't carry with an Encrypted GPS Beacons for salvage later (if they actually survived that long, went unsaid).

 _N7 Rule Number 3: you never now what you might need so take everything that's not nailed down. This of course led to N7 Rule Number 4: if it's nailed down it's probably a whole lot more valuable. Which – again – then led to N7 Rule Number 2: if violence is not an option, that's what your Omni-tools for. Of course I have always been a firm believer in N7 Rule Number 1: When in doubt… C4. Though I've always thought that rule a little strange – not too strange not to use it – just no-one had used explosives as weak as C4 in decades. Since the development of Eezo-based shielding the only stuff with enough 'Ommf!' to do the job was an explosive that was Eezo-based as well. But 'when in doubt… use ED-8' didn't quiet have the same ring to it…_

It was shortly after that thought that Shepard realised her Team had been waiting for her to stop day dreaming for almost a minute. Putting on the best Royal swagger she could muster, Shepard led her team to the final – and still standing pre-fab – marching straight to the door, until –

 **Thud**

It didn't budge and had the Commander not been wearing a helmet she would be sporting a rather nasty bump; there was only one thing in Shepard's Commander-Arsenal that could resolve this dilemma…

"Kaiden, open it."

 _ **Delegation!**_

Kaiden moved to the door, activated his Omni-tool, and without fail… within a minute… the door slid open quietly.

"Quickly, get in…and shut the door, before they come **back** ," cried a small woman in a medical-bodysuit, her nerves were clearly shot… and whatever courage she might have once had was obviously long gone.

 _Oh… great, just what I need_ , thought Shepard sardonically, _panicked 'civies.' Oh well we might just get some answers yet._

"The End is Nigh," cried a little balding man curled up in a corner behind the panicky scientist.

"Oh Bugger," muttered Shepard miserably, this really wasn't her day.

* * *

 **+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

 **+=Unidentified World=+**

 **+=Unidentified City=+**

 **+=Outer Suburbs=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 56.25.00]=+**

* * *

Tedium.

Contact.

Repeat.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Hurdle boulders and serpentine between the burnt-out tree stumps.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

On and on, the mindless tedium went, until… he exited the forest, and slid into cover behind a blackened pre-fab structure. He peaked his Bolter (with its handy M40 Targeting System) round the corner, the display in his helm identified at least a half dozen floating 'drones' above the street – in front of him – heading into the city centre.

They hadn't spotted him…

He gently pulled the Rifle back into cover – in his long service he had seen many such recon-drones (both Mechanical and Biological) – and they all didn't react too well to any sudden movements. While in cover he tried for a third time to reboot his on-board telemetry package. All he got was the same messages over and over; the armours time pieces kept giving the same error messages, any and all data-nets within range had to be down, because all he got was " **+=[Connection Failure: Data Corruption]=+** ".

He was no Tech-Marine, but that probably meant someone was actively Jamming Vox-communications and most – if not all – Data-links had most likely been severed... the black pall of smoke hanging over the City led him to believe… well… he didn't know what to believe... but whatever had happened wasn't good.

The city matched no-known Architectural Style he'd ever come across, and the Librarium on Macragge had a record of nearly every world encountered – to date – by nearly every Legion within the Great Crusade. An immense record spanning nearly two Centuries, and if that wasn't enough it also contain Information and raw Data from nearly every world within the Ultima Segmentum.

And he had memorised nearly every single byte of it and still he had never seen such structures as these before…

He had no intelligence, no rock-crete data and no-known point of reference… **this would be fun!**

 _Okay the basics then:_

 _Scans show that this world's soil is rich in all the necessary chemical compounds to make this place ideal for Agriculture._

 _High in Nitrogen, with the correct levels of Oxygen._

 _Minimal levels of pollutants... the atmosphere is just right._

 _Ultra-violet light levels slightly higher than the Terran-Standard norm._

 _Everything is well within habitable tolerances._

 _I need more data._

He activated his range-finder and tagged the hill he had arrived-on a few minutes earlier.

 **+=[Range: 9 134 meters]=+**

Satisfied, he tagged the hill as [Planet-Fall] within his Locator, resetting the telemetry-suite. With a sigh, he began a quick diagnostic, always keeping at least one eye on his Auspex and his shield at the ready... just in case one of those Drones got to close.

According to his latest telemetry; the planets gravity was **+=[1.04 of Standard-Terran Norm]=+** , and the Atmospheric pressure at his current altitude was **+=[1.45 of Standard-Terran Norm]=+**. And after reviewing the new Data he decided upon a course of action.

With a quick flick of his eyes, he set a Waypoint - on his retinal display - at a point ten kilometres from his current position along the line of travel from Planet-Fall towards his best 'guesstimate' of the last known position of that Psychic-Beacon. Unfortunately his Locator still failed to produce a Map of the surrounding area, and his built-in Vox-Caster couldn't identify any Imperial Channels or the more commonly Vox-frequencies used by non-Imperial Forces.

However his built-in Auspex was still able to provide him with a limited form of Terrain Mapping, allowing him to piece together a rough three-dimensional map of the area… however that only applied to what was currently in his immediate line of sight... the structures opposite his position for instance - according to his telemetry at least - had neither a roof or anything else for that matter beyond the facade... which was highly unlikely.

 _Ah well… nothing worth doing is ever easy_ , thought Sigmund with a chuckle.

He aimed his Bolter back round the corner, trying to get a more accurate count of the – so far – non-hostile contacts. His inner calculations taking mere micro-seconds, he had the perfect line-of-sight towards the swarm, and in another fifteen seconds he'd have a –

A Drone **twitched**.

The Swarm **shifted**.

He ducked back into Cover.

The safety off his Bolter, locked, loaded.

He raised his shield prep'd for Hard Contact.

He could hear their Anti-Grav system powering up.

Growing… **louder and louder** … **closer and closer**...  
Five seconds until contact… Four seconds… **Three** … **Two** … **One…**

Nothing… they flew harmlessly over him, and a few seconds later they were gone. A cloud of white oval shaped drones could be seen flying off towards the forest, perpendicular to the trail he'd just blazed through the grass fields between him and Planet-Fall.

At the speed they were going, it wouldn't take the drones long to find the burnt patch of grass he arrive on. It wouldn't take them long at all to trace him back to the City… he was a sitting duck out here in the open.

He didn't have much time…

With barely a backwards glance he swept round the corner, into the street, and charged down the road at a break-neck pace. His shield raised, his bolter slotted through the bulwarks murder-hole. If there had been anybody in the street to observe him bolting down road, they would have said his speed was unnatural, and anyone with any Military-Training would have admonished him for his apparent lack of Situational-Awareness, however…

They would be wrong…For…

 **No-mere-mortal** could see inside his Helm…

 **No-mere-mortal** could see inside his Mind…

And **No-mere-mortal** could foresee his Actions…

Sigmund **trusted** his War-Gear, if it said there were no Contacts… then there were **no Contacts**.

Sigmund **trusted** his Boarding Shield to withstand all threats he may have faced... no threat had breached it yet.

Sigmund **trusted** his Equipment to lead him to his Objective, that was all there was to it... nothing more... nothing less.

Sigmund **knew** what his Tech could do; it could scan almost every Spectrum known to Man… and quite a few that weren't.

Time was of the essence… he did not know whether or not his objective was time-sensitive, which meant he did not know how much time he had left to complete them. Therefore he had to hurry…

And so he once again descended into the mind-numbing tedium that only another super-human Astartes could ever even hope to match…

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

He advanced quickly toward the City Centre… encountering neither the corpses of the cities **Defenders** nor its **Attackers**. This concerned the Space Marine; so he slowed his speed, and began to check each corner… manually. It was at the third intersection that he came across the first signs of Life… or more precisely the first signs of **Death**.

Ahead of him lay the carcass of an over-turn six-wheeled vehicle, possibly a troop transport, it was rather hard to tell from his position… it was lying on its roof in a shallow burnt-out crater. There were at least a half-dozen blackened - twisted - corpses scattered in and around the burnt-out vehicle, which with the amount of damage, it was hard to tell if it was armoured or not given its current inverted and heavily blackened state.

According to the Bio-Spoor Sensor within his Auspex, there was at least a 23% probability that the twisted mangled corpses had once been… human. Not that he had time to ponder that for long… at the sound of a crack, Sigmund leapt to the side - raising his shield - and taking cover behind the burnt-out vehicle.

He waited a few seconds, there was no sign of movement… his Auspex was clear, and so with no sign of danger he began examining the artefacts littered about the wreckage.

 ***Beep***

 **+=[Warning: Spatial Anomaly Detected]=+**

His HUD high-lighted a series of pods, oval in shape, dull grey in colour, and of unknown function scattered across the burnt pock-marked ground. According to his Auspex the devices were emitting some sort of Gravitational Field. Curious, he picked up one of the pods and examined it, feeling with his hand, its weight was… miniscule compared to his own War-Gear.

 _Hmmm… to heavy to be a thrown incendiary, for those who are un-augmented at least… to well-machined to be an IED… it appears to be some sort of ranged-weapon... maybe a close-combat weapon… but how does one operate such a device?_

He traced a gauntleted finger over the casing, his eye examining the finish, until… he was drawn toward a row of three – identical – red buttons. Above each button was a small picture… obviously describing its function, and after a brief examination he pressed the first red button. The pod unfolded into a – vaguely – rifle-shaped object. He quickly analysed the weapon, and tried to determine its probative value…

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Low Gothic Script (M-7), indicative of Human manufacture._

 _Shape and Design, indicative of Humanoid users._

 _Trigger-guard to small for augmented personnel._

 _No apparent, clip or magazine._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _Unsuitable for Space Marine combat deployment._

 _Unknown design and manufacture, retain for analyses by Tech-Marine_.

His choice made; he pressed the same button again collapsing the weapon, as he mag-locked it to his thigh-plate, next to his spare Bolter-Barrels. There was nothing more to be gained here, so he left cover, and began advancing – rapidly – down the street once more.

It didn't take the Marine long before he noticed that there were a lot more burnt corpses in the street, as well as several – two-man – shuttle-like transports along the sides of the road. But before he could examine them further, he heard a scream. Instinctively he reached out with his mind to –

 **Pain**. Mind **numbing**. All **encompassing**. Never-ending.

His mental injuries, flared as real-space reasserted itself once more, within the confines of his tortured and wounded mind. Not missing a beat he did his best to remain calm, while still rapidly moving toward the source of the scream. He spun round, into a courtyard between three buildings, he –

His hearts sped-up, he felt the rush of adrenalin – and a multitude of combat chemicals that he had no-name for – surged through his system… time seemed to slow to a crawl. And in that space between seconds the Sergeant began to analyse the situation…

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Xenos are executing/sacrificing civilians, in a ritualistic manner._

 _There are eight hostiles, three contacts on top of the buildings, three contacts guarding the prisoners, and two contacts in the process of dragging away a victim._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _ **First.**_ _Neutralise over-watch units, at range with Bolter._

 _ **Second.**_ _Engage armed-units guarding prisoners, in CQB with Shield and Power Sword._

 _ **Third.**_ _Eliminate the remaining units, with horizontal slash in CQB, rescue hostage._

 _ **Execute**_ _._

* * *

Private Nirali Bhatia of the 2nd Frontier Division, was having a _**really**_ bad day.

The day had started at a very early hour. And what had followed was mind-numbing hour after mind-numbing hour of never-ending maintenance of the seemingly perpetually filthy equipment located in the cramped Kitchens of the base Cafeteria.

And that was where she had been when the Air-Raid siren had started blaring. She – and the rest of her Squad – had then raced to the muster yard, but before she could even be issued with an Assault Rifle, the Barracks had been hit.

A massive explosion that had knocked her down, a brief period of violence tearing through her ears, with a blissful darkness following shortly thereafter. When she came to, she was already bound, and there was no sign of her Squad at all.

She didn't recognise anyone… nothing made sense… or maybe that was the concussion talking…

There were some Alliance personnel in her group, no-one she recognised through all the grim and the dirt made it hard to tell, but it didn't matter... most of her group was made up of frightened 'Civies' anyway. Strangely the Aliens – _Geth I think_ – hadn't taken away her Omni-tool or her Head-set, so when they weren't looking… or at least when those strange Cyclops-like heads weren't pointing in her direction… she tried to discretely contact Command.

 **Nothing** … **No** signal… **No** extra-net access… just nothing… the **Machines** were probably deliberately blocking their Comms so all that left her with was… she didn't know, but the least she could do was record what was happening and pass it on to Alliance Intelligence when she got the chance.

That was until they… executed Corporal Jones… it was… horrible… terrifying… she… none of them could look away… and in that terrible… bloody… moment… Private Bhatia completely forgot, about her Omni-tool and the recording… she even forgot about her Head-set. She couldn't think about anything else…

And then they grabbed another prisoner, and her heart-sank, until…

She heard it…

A series of metallic thuds and some high-pitch whistling.

And then the Geth on the roof started exploding.

Before anyone could re-act a giant blue blur **Charged** the Geth.

It drew a long sliver… thing… from its back, and cut the Geth guarding her in half.

With a single swing, with whatever that was… _was it her eyes… or was that thing glowing blue?_

He took another step toward the last Geth guarding them, and thrust his sword right through it.

Not missing a beat… he turned… took a single step, and swung his sword up… and around his head with one hand. Cleaving their shoulders and flash-light heads clean off.

They dropped the poor 'Civie' they were dragging to his death, as their metallic carcases slumped to the ground. The giant seemed to pause… his sword stopped glowing… at which point Nirali realised that – _He Had a Freaking_ _ **SWORD**_ – that was a real eye-opener at which point she begin to really 'check-out' their rescuer. He then spun the sword round – one-handed – and drove the tip and the first two feet of that massive blade into the ground, **clean through one of the inert Geth!**

He took his right-hand off the hilt, and offered a helping hand to the man on the ground. Once the poor Civie realised that he wasn't going to die, he took the armoured man's hand, who picked him up – **bodily** – his boots dangling off the ground by at least a foot, before putting him back down on his feet.

It was only once the giant stopped moving, that Private Bhatia finally realised how big the armoured giant really was. The stunned 'Civie' he just saved and the rest of them just stared up at him in awe… he was barely half as tall as the giant. He barely came up to the middle of the giants ultramarine blue chest plate.

He had to be at least nine feet tall and almost four feet wide. His hard-suit – or maybe it was an exo-suit – was made of a series of overlapping plates, with each plate intricately etched with swirling wreaths of Ivy. And as she looked closer, Bhatia could see that each swirl was made up of innumerable lines of tiny Norse-like runes. Line upon Line… Swirl upon Swirl… drawing you in… it made her eyes ache just looking at them.

After an eternity – mere moments upon the recording – he turned to face the captives, and she caught sight of his right shoulder plate. Across that ivory plain was a gilded horse-shoe bisected by a golden dagger, along the raised bottom rim was a series of Roman-Numerals. She barely caught-sight of his other pauldron, which – though obscured – bore a gold-rimmed white horse-shoe, the tips of which were clutched in the Talons of a Golden Double-Headed – Imperial – Eagle.

It was all so… it felt… Medieval…

However… despite him just saving them, he truly did frightened her.

The crux of her fear… the heart of her… fear… was that faceless death mask of a helmet he wore. From its implacable featureless mask... to its bloody…crimson… pitiless eyes… the glow of which seemed to bore right through you.

The seemingly strict aura of disapproval was only reinforced by the scowling golden rivets and the archaic horse-hair crest, above those glaring red lenses. And yet… this… image seemed to clash, with the navy-blue laurel that was etched… no rested… upon the helmets temples, with a white, ivory-like, inlay… like a series of delicate veins running round…no… tumbling round, his armoured head.

However it was the small – almost ornate – golden skull that seemed to draw her eyes inward. Until Private Bhatia was dragged from her day-dreaming, when the silent Alliance-blue monolith spoke…

* * *

"May I speak to the highest ranking officer amongst you," asked Sigmund, the synthetic rasp of his vocaliser seemed to startle a few of the men and women within the crowd.

They stood there staring at him, and glancing at each other in confusion. Sigmund had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, there was a possibility that…

 _Oh great_ , thought Sigmund morosely, _no-one on this beatific little back-water speaks Gothic_.

He opened his mouth to try another dialect that he was familiar with… until a small woman with a dark-tan and a head-set stepped out from the crowd. With a sense of trepidation she pointed toward the only human corpse that the Geth had managed to impale, before his intervention.

"Corporal Jones was the only NCO in our group, and we have lost contact with Command," she informed him softly, if not with a hint of uncertainty, "However… out of all the Marines here… I probably have Seniority."

He raised an eyebrow – unseen – at this self-proclaimed 'Marine' and then asked her with authority, "What's your name, Soldier?"

"Private Bhatia of the 2nd Frontier Division, Sir," declared the diminutive woman (well diminutive is comparison to him anyway); with a sense of pride he'd rarely seen before in a PDF detachment.

 _Good… the people of this world have some backbone… at least that appears to be the case_ , thought Sigmund derisively, most Planets dumped their least valuable citizens into the local garrison to keep them out of trouble, _good to see that isn't happening here._

Turning back to the matter at hand, he asked Private Bhatia, "Can you evacuate the civilians out of the city and into the country-side?"

"The Geth took most of our equipment, without our Weapons or Omni-tools…" she shrugged, "we could lead them towards the forest… the local wildlife should mask out heat signatures… but without guns or our Comms… we'd be sitting ducks… as well as helpless and blind. They'd could be waiting to pick us off at their leisure… we'd never see them coming."

Sigmund reached down to his leg and unlocked the collapsed Rifle from his thigh plate, and casually handed it to Private Bhatia.

"Here take this."

She unfolded the Rifle with practiced ease, sighted down the barrel and put a round into a nearby Geth Corpse.

He inclined his head toward the Marine, impressed with her rapid acclimation to the weapon; he then turned and pointed down the street, toward the burnt-out transport he had passed earlier.

"There's more Rifles within that Transport… head down the street and into the forest… the way is clear," he informed her casually, as he knelt down to examine one of the Xeno corpses – _**these Geth**_ – that the Private spoke about. They appeared to be some sort of Xeno Cyborg, however he couldn't locate its brain-cavity or any sort of life-support system. He was busy examining the corpse further… when he heard someone cough behind him. He turned to find that Private Bhatia hadn't moved, in fact she had gotten even closer to him.

"Respectfully, Sir, what about you," enquired Private Bhatia loud enough for the whole group of scare civilians to hear, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"I have critical objective that I need to complete," he replied succinctly, his tone devoid of all emotion, even before his synthesizer could obliterate it.

"What could possibly interest Command here," queried Bhatia further, "this is an Agricultural Colony… there's little here of **any** strategic value."

The tactical part of Sigmund's mind decided that perhaps releasing a little information may further his objectives, he informed the soldier before him that, "I am supposed to locate some sort of Beacon…"

A frown creased Bhatia's face at the mention of the 'Beacon', her mood darkened considerably as she replied, "you must be talking about the Prothean Beacon. I heard that they were moving it up to the Space Port."

 _Ah… ask and yea shall receive…_

"How do I get to the Space Port from our… current location," asked Sergeant Sigmund, a small modicum of eagerness seeping into his tone.

"With all due respect, **Sir** … screw the Beacon," declared Bhatia venomously, "there are civies that need to be evacuated… we need every Rifle we can get… can't you divert the rest of your squad to secure the Artefact?"

Sigmund withdrew his mind from the confines of real-space… he open his mind… extending his Witch-Sight… outward, searching. Only to encounter… **emptiness** … _**and Pain**_ … half remembered, half forgotten. He couldn't sense his squad, and to reach further would only pain him more.

"The rest of my Squad is not deployed… within this System," replied Sigmund evenly, his tone unwavering… his Praetorian Helm masking his pain.

Incredulous Bhatia asked, "Your just one man, what – ?"

 **Gr-chirp-chirp-gurgle…**

Around the corner of a building came a Squad of half a dozen Geth… led by two large red ones.

Sigmund raised his Bolter and shield, and calmly put two rounds through the lead Geth.

The Mass-Reactive rounds blasted them apart, spilling their corpses across the roadway like metallic confetti.

The resulting shrapnel, downed the rest, it tore their dark grey bodies to shreds.

Stunned, Private Bhatia simply raised a shaky hand, and pointed further up the main road, and with calmness she probably didn't feel… stated quite clearly that, "if you head further up the road you will eventually reach the Space Port…"

Before Private Bhatia had even finished giving the instructions, Sigmund had sheathed his three-and-half-handed sword, and was already heading out toward the Space Port.

Breathlessly she called after him, "Wait… the Space Port is right beneath that… _**Thing**_. I'm afraid not even you could defeat that… alone."

Sigmund stopped for a moment and face the Alliance Marine, and spoke a phrase that had become synonymous with the Legions.

"I am a Space Marine… _**I Know No Fear**_."

Turning back to his quest at hand, like a Knight-Errant of old… he marched onward toward the Leviathan… with every intent to slay the foul Beast.

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Tram-Station=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[07.27.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 07.27.00]=+**

* * *

Struggle.

Smuggle.

Befuddle.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Snipe those bloody Drones from range.

Put a burst of fire into their Shields.

And Shotgun the Stragglers.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

On and On.

Over and Over.

Again and Again.

For what seemed like hours, they had fought from the burnt-out Science-Camp to the outskirts of the nearest Tram-Station. The Geth never once relented in their attack… they never once fell back, never once regrouped… the loss of entire platoons didn't seem to deter them at all. And it sure as hell never stopped them throwing themselves at Shepard's Squad, like a never ending wave of suicidal electronic berserkers.

On and On.

Over and Over.

Again and Again.

Take out one, another takes its place.

Take out five, ten rise up seemingly out of no-where.

Take out a Platoon, and they drop a dozen more Armatures on your head.

 _Trigger discipline…_

 _Tight groupings…_

 _Watch your shields…_

These were the words cycling endless through Shepard's carefully ordered mind, as she faced down hordes of Geth. She'd just taken out several Drones, clearing the air when-

 **Shhhhzz-clunk…**

Her Pistol over-heated… not batting an eye, she swiftly switched her weapons, and easily blasted a Geth coming round a tree with her shotgun. She slammed into cover behind the trunk, checking her Shotgun, getting ready to –

… **Silence…**

Leaning out of cover, surveying the mechanical devastation around her, Shepard could see that Ashley and Kaiden were equally confused. It seemed that the Geth had run-out of Mobile Platforms, _but why…?_

 _There must be a reason behind all this_ , Shepard thought numbly, as her hands went through the motions of checking and rechecking her equipment; _they can't hope to stop us… so why are they just throwing themselves at us? But more importantly... why did they stop?_

Such a question wouldn't answer itself…

A few quick hand signals had her Squad formed-up and marching toward the top of the Ridge; only to halt suddenly as the ground started trembling… rumbling… beneath their feet. Off in the distance they heard a terrible soul-wrenching scream… one that only kept growing closer and closer… the air was filled with _**thousands upon thousands of pain filled screams**_ … and in the distance that black Leviathan started its ascent… Up… and Up… and onwards… the malevolent bloodied clouds twisting - swirling - above them were cast asunder in its wake… as it arose, the planet fell away beneath the monstrosities immense bulk…

Eventually… Shepard's haggard gaze was drawn away from the rapidly retreating monster, and down towards the hordes of Geth that were already taking up position around the nearest Tram-Station in the valley bellow. They were swarming around the base of the hill the Squad found themselves on. Hundreds of twisted Husks and a seemingly insurmountable number of Geth surrounded the miniscule little transport station. Hundreds upon hundreds of hostile contacts… far more than they'd slaughtered all morning, standing between them... and Nihlus.

 _There has got to be a logical reason for –_

And then it hit her tired mind like speeding freight-train, had she more energy, Shepard would have been complaining about the whiplash she just got from her sudden epiphany…

 _They were just buying time_ ; Shepard thought tiredly, as her lagging mental faculties struggled to catch up, _their buying time for the units further behind them… probably the Geth holding the Space-Port._ _ **But for what purpose?**_ _It doesn't matter… the faster we get to the Beacon, the higher the chance we will negate their delaying action. Hah! Eat your heart out Sun Tzu, even half dead on my feet – not to mention severely decaffeinated – I can still out think a bunch of insane supercomputers…_

At which point the Universe, as if sensing a challenge from the defiant little redhead, decided to drop two Squads of Geth and a horde of Husks on her head for her sheer audacity of such thoughts. Needless to say; Shepard and her worn-out Team, neither appreciated the Universes sentiment nor the 'gift' that they'd just received from the Universe at large.

The great universal joke – as it were – was on them… and it just goes to show that sometimes all a good joke really needs is a little… _**perspective.**_

It was at this point – while a slightly petulant higher power grew bored, and wandered off to go mess with evolution for a bit – that Shepard decided that she had had enough. More specifically she had had enough of the Geth dictating their engagements…

 _ **My turn…**_

She swung out of cover, bringing her Rifle up…

Not aiming and not caring if she really hit anything…

That wasn't the point, she let rip with a burst of full-auto…

The nearest Geth doing a pretty good impersonation of a sieve…

She charged the Geth, forcing the alien automatons to focus on her…

Dark energy crackled about her, the air consumed with flashes of blue light…

She charged towards them, energy arching off her form, and when she got close…

 **Thwack!**

The closest Geth went down, its flashlight head cracked and flickering. With a flick of her wrist, she flicked a spinning disc towards its recently expired Geths friends. Once the little surprise was delivered, she strode – in perhaps the most relaxed of manner possible – to the side and into cover. Ducking down behind a rock, just as suppressive fire started to rain down on her position until –

 **BOOOM!**

– The half dozen Geth behind her simply ceased to exist.

 _Thank you ED-8 thermo-plastic explosives, and for my next trick…_

"Kaiden, Overload," she cried over her shoulder.

Kaiden – who was lagging somewhere behind the Commander – activated his Omni-Tool, quickly flash-forging the tech necessary to summon an orange glowing highly charged sphere into his hand. Unseen by the Commander, he drew his arm back, before thrusting it forward violently, sending the glowing-sphere spinning through the air towards a large group of Geth.

With impressive precision, barely a second after the Lieutenant, Shepard launched her own Biotic punch at the spasming automatons. Before they had even hit the ground; she flicked a now familiar silver disk at the downed machines, and screamed…

" **Fire in the Hole!"**

The Geth with a grenade mag-locked to its chest looked down almost comically as –

 **Fwump!**

– he and several other platforms were pulped by the impressive blast over-pressure. For all intents and purposes they simply ceased to exist… while any and every Husk within twenty feet were flung about like rag-dolls.

 _Note to self: Biotics and Eezo-Based explosives do not, I repeat_ _ **do not**_ _, mix… on a lighter note –_

"That was awesome," screamed Chief Williams with almost child-like enthusiasm, from somewhere behind her.

Nodding sagely as if Williams had just quoted Scripture, Shepard got out from behind a boulder and proceeded to check that they were all dead, in a manner befitting of most Zombie movies… by shooting each and every one of the little bastards a couple more times _**ju~ust**_ to be sure.

A few minutes – and a couple hundred 'rounds' – later; Shepard lead her team up the hill and onto the Crest to see –

A pack of Husks charging right at them.

Needing space Shepard lashed out with her Biotics.

She had never been taught to retreat, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

 _ **Never allow your enemy to dictate the Battle…**_

Shepard charged the shambling Husks…

And for a moment they seemed to pause…

Until –

 **Thrummm!**

Everything… from Geth to Husks to the rocks on the ground…

Like a shotgun blast, everything blew outward in an expanding cone of Force…

Husks were littered about the field, and Shepard simply marched on, crushing them beneath her boots…

 _ **You must always dictate the flow of the Battle…**_

Occasionally a Husk would topple behind her… sniped… or shocked...

But she simply ignored them, and kept moving… kept going… kept killing...

She dealt death to the deathless… her rifle could have been likened to a Scythe…

With a sweep of her weapon… the twisted dead would topple like freshly shorn wheat…

But… she was not focused upon those in front of her.

As she lazily shot a Husk, through the eye with barely a glance.

 _Where are they?_

She bashed another across the face, caving its skull and knocking it head over heels.

 _Where could –_

 _ **There they are…**_

She spotted the Geth Handlers, the mechanical masterminds guiding - leading - this mindless shambling horde. Without them the Husks would be leaderless, uncoordinated... easy pickings. They were larger than the average Geth…

Seeing them… she charged…

Dark energy rippling in her wake…

Her gun blazing away, taking out one…

Then two, until… it over-heated, jammed…

Not missing a beat, she brained the nearest flash-light head with the butt of her rifle. Killing it instantly… and rendering her Rifle useless. Afterwards... it really didn't matter… she cast it aside, and continued her advance… her rifle forgotten; she lashed out, her Biotics flaring. Left and Right; she'd tear one apart – and in turn – crush another with the pieces.

On and on.

Her Blood pumping…

Over and over.

The thrill of the fight…

Again and again.

 _ **The savage thrill that came with Destruction.**_

The supporting fire had ceased a long time ago…

Not that Shepard noticed, as she put her fist through another platform.

She grabbed one by the back of its neck, slamming a glowing knee into its chest.

Casting it aside, she panned her gaze across the shambling horde, looking for the last Handler.

She turned to find a rifle levelled at her head. Any sane person would have raised their own weapons… and taken the shot. Shepard raised her own weapon - but she wasn't necessarily sane - and tossed it. It spun end over end towards the Geth, until –

 **Crack!**

It struck the machine knocking it to the ground, but before it could get up –

 **Crunch!**

Shepard slammed a fist into its chest –

 **Crunch!**

A second following the first –

 **Crunch!**

She continued to crush it –

 **Crunch!**

Blow after blow –

 **Crunch!**

Until… Silence… the dust settled, and Shepard looked around her. Not a single Geth remained, and the Husks lay there… scattered about… completely lifeless. Getting back to her feet, snatching up her battered – and still jammed – rifle on the way, she turned round only to find –

Two shell-shocked Marines.

A bushel of slack-jawed Farmers.

A dozen Geth in various stages of dismemberment.

And over fifty or more twisted Husks, lying mangled at her feet.

It was sometime around this point that she realized that most – if not all – the Husks had been ripped limb from limb… by hand.

 _Whoa… haven't let go like that in a_ _ **loooong**_ _time_ , Shepard thought cheerily... the kind of cheerfulness that sent most Alliance shrinks running in the opposite direction...she was seemingly oblivious to the carnage Shepard had just inflicted, or more likely, she reveled in it.

Shepard turned to look over her shoulder at the Tram-Station, seeing that it seemed to be clear of enemies, she began marching cheerfully with a spring in her step over towards it.

Almost wistfully she called back over her shoulder to her shell-shocked Squad calling, "Come on team, the Beacons not goin' to secure itself."

* * *

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams by default respected her Commanders; she was polite and differential to her Superior Officers and without preamble saluted anyone who out ranked her… and since she was a Williams that usually meant just about everyone.

And up until about a minute ago she did it, _because… well… uhm, that was just how she had been raised,_ _ **damn it!**_

That was – of coarse – until she saw her newest Commander in action…

She had been carefully picking off the Drones strafing their position with her Rifle, one by one, she'd been keeping the little bastards off their backs since the beginning of the fight… hell she'd been keeping the Drones in check since the Dig-Site. She had just blown away the last mechanised little bugger out of the latest wave of drones, when she heard sound that made her **blood run cold…**

Kaiden had stopped firing.

She spun around to find him slack-jawed with his Shotgun dangling from a pair of limp fingered hands. She ran up to cover him, cresting the hill, preparing to drag him into cover when –

She looked over and saw the Commander.

She was knee deep in Husks and advancing calmly.

She was simply blasting away any Husk that got close enough.

She was advancing – nonchalantly – down the hill toward the Tram-Station.

She seemed completely oblivious to the suppressive fire that was raining down around her.

And by God… was the Commander kicking their collective shinny-metal-asses!

It was incredible… and Shepard was single-handedly driving them back with her Biotics, forcing the entire shambling horde back toward the Tram-Station... guns blazing.

And then something changed, without warning Shepard's charged… her armoured form wreathed in a crackling shroud of swirling dark energy. Her Biotics were blasting apart anything that got to close… Husks… Geth… Drones… bits and pieces of the cybernetic undead were being flung around by the growing - cascading - Biotic Energy like so much paper-confetti on the wind. A sphere of impenetrable energy surrounded the Commander as she sprinted through the horde, until –

 **Thrummm… Wham!**

Bits and pieces of both Husks and Geth alike rained down across the battlefield when Shepard released her Biotic Barrier… the explosion was violent and destructive. All the while her Rifle kept on roaring – never once ceasing in its deadly barrage – tearing apart every single soulless automaton that got in her way. Any enemy she missed, was simply slapped out of the way with a glowing fist… and if that didn't work, she simply crushed them underneath one of her shimmering armoured boots. On and on she went, shredding everything in her path until –

 **Click-Sssssshhh…**

Her gun jammed, at which point… well… Shepard got just a **little** bit _**more**_ unorthodox. Not missing a beat… she flipped her Rifle round and smashed the Butt into the face of the nearest Bot.

From then on it devolved into an all-out Biotic-Brawl.

She'd rip one Bot limb from limb, and bashed another to a pulp with the pieces. Shepard was unrelenting… she just kept wailing on the poor Bastards, and Ashley actually started feeling sorry for the poor twisted creatures. Until –

"Come on team, the Beacons not goin' to secure itself."

It was at this point that Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams decided that an extra ration of ass-kissing – in this specific situation – might not be a bad idea at all… _**seriously**_.

Noticing that Kaiden wasn't about to get going she elbowed him in the ribs, to get his attention. Thus breaking him out of his nearly catatonic stunned stupor, as they both raced down the hill following the commander.

She didn't even notice the stunned farmers standing behind her, as she raced to keep up with her – very scary – Commanding Officer. And she sure as hell wanted to remain on her Commanding Officers **slightly less scary** good-side… and as far away from her **truly terrifyingly psychotic** Bad-Ass-Side as humanly possible.

* * *

Shepard led the way toward the Tram-Station – with two slightly shell-shocked Marines trailing in her wake – it didn't take them long to get there… and in moments Shepard was directing her Squad to form a Tactical-Stack at the base of the ramp.

She mentally chuckled at the looks on their faces, the looks of fear and awe… she hadn't let her hair down – metaphorically of course – in a long time… _ahh… Classic_.

Maybe – just maybe – she had become a tad bit desensitized to all the violence, but what could she do… that was how she had been trained…

 _Find the Objective, and Complete it._

 _Isolate and Eliminate any… and all obstructions._

 _And go wherever you have to, to do it._

That's what N-School taught her; at least that's what the Alliance Grunts called… _**eh-hem**_ , 'Interplanetary Combative Training'... bloody hell… they make it sound-like something that the should require you to adjourn for Tea and crumpets, afterwards.

To the graduates… they simply called it, the 'Villa'; to those who failed… they called it Hell. To Shepard… it meant **rebirth** , she went in a **shattered** and **broken** Vanguard, and came out an N7 Operative. She went in a nervous wreck, someone that jumped at her own shadow, and when it was all said-and-done… **now** people jumped at the mere mention of her name... after the Villa the Verse became a **whole** different ball-game.

And it wasn't just Shepard that felt that way, everyone who went to the Villa came out as something different… some people came out bigger and meaner – some people just came out scarier. _**The rest?**_ You couldn't tell what they got out of it. Alot of people came out of N7-School looking like accountants or marketing executives, but that didn't mean they didn't come out… **different**. You could see it… if you knew what to look for… if you survived the Villa, you'd know the signs.

You could see it in their posture, **relaxed** like a coiled spring. You could see it in the looks they gave you, **casual** and **calculating**. It was the way they dissected you with their eyes, taking you apart piece by piece, and if you lived to tell the tale of meeting a N7-Graduate, then… they probably thought you weren't worth the effort it would take to kill you.

Now you may ask; what did Shepard get outta the deal? What she got was incredible **Reflexes** and an inhuman level of **Situational Awareness** , that had been honed to such an insane degree that it felt almost... instinctual. It allowed her mind – even in the heat of battle – to plot and plan while her body dealt with the more immediate threats to her person... almost like a reflex... there was a Drell word for it... but that didn't matter right now…

What did matter was that they were -

"In position," Kaiden reported, from his place at the back of the tactical Stack.

Shepard gave him a nod, and swiftly led the Squad round the corner and onto the platform. In moments they had spread out and began to check nearly every inch of the platform.

"I got something over here," Ashley informed the Commander, as she pointed her Rifle, indicating a Geth corpse lying on the other end of the platform.

From her place checking some crates, Shepard responded, "Kaiden see what –"

The words died in her throat, it wasn't a Geth…

"Damn… it's Nihlus."

"Whose Nihlus?" Ashley enquired curiously, as she approached the corpse.

"Our backup," Kaiden replied gruffly, a hint of anger seeping into his usually stoic tone, "clearly someone shot in the back."

Kaiden crouched down to check the Turians vitals, while Ashley and Shepard moved to check the area. Finding nothing they stowed their Weapons, as they waited for Kaiden scans to –

 _ **Click**_

In the blink of an eye, everyone had their side-arms out, aiming down at a stack of innocuous crates near the other end of the platform.

"Come-on out with your hands where we can see them," Ashley instructed calmly but loudly, her voice raised only slightly but still easily carrying clear across the platform.

"D-don't shoot," came the reply, from a rather reedy sounding voice, "I'm unarmed."

From behind a crate against a retaining wall, came a greasy looking dockworker wearing a rather ratty looking grey-wool knitted-cap and a grease-stained jumpsuit.

"Who are you?" Ashley demanded her hands steady, her pistol sighted right between the reedy mans beady little eyes.

"Names-s Pow-ell… I work here," the man stuttered his hands still raised, he backed up a bit seemingly stumbling over his words and not – say – his feet.

Shepard quickly stalked over to the cowering little man, while gesturing towards the Spectres corpse and not mincing her words in the slightest, "did you kill him?"

"No-o no, it was the other Turian," twittered the greasy little dockworker fearfully.

"What 'other' Turian?" Kaiden inquired suspiciously.

"I don't know… I swear; they talked, your guy there turned his back, and his buddy shot him," replied Powell in a panicked rush.

"What do you mean 'buddy'," Shepard snapped her temper rising, as it always did when she had to deal with shady bastard like this… coward.

"They knew each other… your buddy Nitrus – "

"Nihlus!"

"Whatever… he called other the guy er – I can't remember… S... something," Shepard pointed her sidearm at his skull, "Saren! He called the other guy Saren!"

"What now Commander… I've heard about this guy. Apparently he's dirty," asked Ashley her own side-arm still pointing at Powell, thus raising the topic of their greasy little civie problem.

"He's not our problem," she hissed turning away from the coward huddling behind the crates.

Ignoring the pathetic dockworker, Shepard tried to raise the Normandy on her Helmet Comms, and… nothing.

"Damn, our signals being jammed," the Commander muttered, as she turned back to the weaselly little man cowering behind some crates, and demanded to know, "Where's the Beacon."

"They mov-ved it to... the-the... S-space P-p-port, right bef-fore the at-t'ck," replied Powell in a rush, tripping over his words in his headlong rush to get this conversation over and done with, so he could get away from the scary looking gut-totting Alliance Marine as quickly as humanly possible.

 _Just great_ , thought Shepard morosely, the faster they left the better she would feel, "okay let's move up and secure the Tram, team."

As they rounded the corner they encountered even more of those Mindless Machines. The Squad moved up to engage, the Geth holding the arrival platform and the controls to the only Tram currently docked at the Station…

Everyone could feel it, their window of opportunity was begin running out…

* * *

 **+=Arcturus Station=+**

 **+=Alliance Intelligence Agency Headquarters (AIA)=+**

 **+=Intelligence Analysis Division=+**

 **+=Traverse Sub-Desk=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[07.27.22]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 07.27.12]=+**

* * *

Cecilia Grant was having a **very... very... long day** , and it just seemed to be getting longer and longer by the minute.

She had arrived early this morning to her very quiet (read as very boring) desk in the Analysis Division, same as she did every day for the last eighteen months. Her current position within the Division was that of a surveillance analyst and electronic maintenance technician… which in lay-mans-terms meant that she spent most her days collating the data from hundreds of automated security VI's from all over Alliance Space… her days filled with watching a mind-numbing series of endless streams of surveillance footage. Endless hour after endless hour of the damn things… _and do you know what the worst part was?_

Nothing ever really happened on the planets she was watching… nothing… but that didn't mean she could stop… now did it? No… she had to watch **all of it** , and then archive it… and after all that, she still had to write a lengthy report about it… **that no-one would ever bloody read.**

That was of course… up until about twelve hours ago, when every cam and sensor feed – **Planeside** – from a small Agri-Colony on the edge of the Traverse had gone dark. Leaving her – and the rest of the Division – completely in the dark about the events on Eden Prime. And then after thirty – agonising – minutes of panic (within and without every Intel Division the Alliance had), then suddenly - completely out of the blue - her station in particular – and the servers that had been slaved to it – inexplicably re-connected to Eden Prime's on-sight data-terminals, receiving hundreds of hours of backlogged footage, the sheer amount of data almost crashed all of her servers which would have been a nightmare to restart. But that wasn't her biggest problem...

 **Someone had attacked Eden Prime.**

That had gotten her bosses attention, and they decided to – **finally** – put some more people on the Minor-Colony Desk. Sadly; all that really meant was some more – useless – Analysts, and a bunch of – winey – Military Officers. No-one who actually did any of the real work clearly, since nearly all of them spent most of their time complaining that they didn't have enough data, and that their only qualified surveillance Tech – **her** – was (and I quote) 'Incompetent'.

 _Right…_

So here she was – doing all the work unsurprisingly – and going through all the endless hours of – quite frankly heavily **corrupted** – surveillance tapes, looking for – _and I quote_ – 'a Giant Blue Alien Robot'.

 _Okay that was 'specific'_ , Ms Grant thought sardonically, _perhaps I should send all the winy idiots a link to a couple hundred hours of Japanese Anime that, 'Giant Blue Alien Robot' could… oh-so… easily describe!_

So… for the last ten hours, which in lay-mans-terms translates to about fourteen cups of coffee and a half-dozen bathroom breaks, Ms Grant had been going over hundreds of hours of VI-cam feeds… by hand. And so far, besides a real need for therapy after all the badly burnt corpses she had seen… she had nothing to show for –

 _Bingo!_

An automated search she had been running, brought a small bit of footage from a lone-Cam close to the main CBD in Constant, and what it gave her was… a single three-frame blur.

 _Not much, but I've worked with less…_

So – in a move she had play a hundred times before – Cecelia opened up the latest version of her 'Alliance Approved' image recognition software she had loaded on her Holographic Terminal; and entered the 'Clip' (if you could call a three-frame blur a 'Clip') in to the holographic-digital chamber and fired off a more refined search across the rest of the Surveillance Servers… the ones she had clearance for anyway.

And less than a minute later Ms Grant finally got some results from the more detailed search…

* * *

 _A large blue shape charged toward some unaware Geth, flame bloomed around the muzzle of his Silver and Gold Cannon, and the Geth… they just… exploded in a puff of smoke and shrapnel. The clip ended with the vaguely blue shape charging straight through the smoke… and the flame… and out of frame…_

* * *

 _Okay, four seconds, at least that was better than the last Vid… maybe –_

Her terminal pinged again, as another Vid popped-up and began playing…

* * *

 _A dozen Geth were firing at something off screen, and then –_

 _The three Geth in the centre of the formation… exploded._

 _The rest of the Geth were knocked down…_

 _A blue blur speeds past the camera and yet again, out of the frame…_

* * *

 _Okay that one was twelve seconds, but still that should be –_

Another ping… another Vid –

* * *

 _Again the same blue figure charged through – and over – a group of Geth –_

 _ **Crunch**_

 _Never once stopping as 'it' charged toward a large Armature and in one smooth, almost fluid gesture, the blue robot took a silver-grey cylinder from his belt, and lobbed it toward the giant walking tank. As he sped past the plodding machine – there's a flash – and then the screen went black…_

* * *

… _It?_

Over the next two minutes, to her immense surprise, she got at least another two dozen Vids of this… _**thing**_ in action. And it didn't take a Specialist to realise that it was the same… Robot (?), according to her image recognition App – anyway – the large blue robot had at least a ninety-six percent match to all the earlier images.

The short clips weren't giving her much, but her terminal had managed to stitch together a rough composite... it wasn't much. Rough shape... some kind of huge-ass shield... strange shaped fan-like thing on top of its helmet... maybe...

If the earlier footage – of the terrible things the Geth were doing on Eden Prime – required therapy, then this… whatever this was… was like a breath of fresh air. The blue machine – because that was all it could be – was methodical, every movement precise, not an ounce of wasted energy… absolutely brutal.

In every Vid she had so far… its every twitch, its every move… led somehow to the destruction of dozens of Geth… or those bluish-grey… _**creatures**_ that shambled around the homicidal machines. The Vid's were an – almost - unending litany of brutality and unadulterated violence, every Geth in them had been either smashed aside, blasted apart, crushed under-foot, or ripped limb from mechanical limb.

And after nearly half hour of such horrifying digital trauma, Ms. Grant had, had enough…

Turning away from her terminal, the young Analyst couldn't help but wonder… if there was some kind of pattern hidden within the sporadic Intel-Cam Footage. Pulling up a map of the locations of the Intel-Cams, she began to plot an overlay of the Cams that gave her footage of the giant, and what she saw was…

 **They led strait to the Space Port.**

It was at this point that Cecilia Grant decided that this discovery was far beyond her pay-grade, and thus the decision was made for her… she decided to pass the buck up a few levels.

"Um… Ma'am, you gotta see this…"

* * *

 **+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant=+**

 **+=Central Business District=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: + 32.31.00]=+**

* * *

 **Crack!**

Yet another broken shell of a alien automaton sailed through the air, only to land in a heap on the blackened-ground a split second later. The synthetic-corpse disturbing the fine layer of glassed sand that hung heavy in the sweltering hot air. But before the glassed dust could even settle, a large cobalt-blue boot stomped the rogue AI's torso into a fine cybernetic paste. After giving the sole of his armoured-boot one final grind, Sigmund turned his gaze upon the scene of apocalyptic-landscape that surrounded him.

The field he now found himself in could simply be describe as one great big ugly carbon-smear, it was filled with dozens of burnt out vehicles and mountains smouldering rumble… the majority of which had all once been part of a thriving district… no more than a few hours before, if the Heat-Dispersal Patterns his armour was feeding him were correct. It was after but a moment's introspection, that Sigmund turned his attention away from the devastation that surrounded him… to focus solely on what he believed to be the cause…

The large Xeno-Command Craft hanging ominously above the burning Colony…

He had… after several intense scans by his Auspex (and some rigorous mental analysis of the results… and not to mention the multiple theoreticals he had created and discarded), come to only one conclusion; the invading Xeno's were some kind of Soulless Machines of a – as of yet – unknown origin.

His brief analysis of their tactical and squad-deployment patterns, suggested some sort of either Hive Mind, or more accurately, Swarm Intelligence. The greater their numbers; the more advanced and abstract the tactics of the enemy automatons seemed to become. They also seemed to have some sort of tactical data-net, through which their unseen Commanders would (it appeared) attempt – quite unsuccessfully – to co-ordinate their seemingly unending counter-attacks against him.

Most of which were but pathetic attempts to take him out at range, which could have easily negated his close-combat advantage… thus allowing them to bring their superior numbers to bear.

However... with his boarding shield, and without anti-armour support, they simply didn't have the fire-power… not even the combined might of their largest and most powerful units could even hope to slow him down, let alone stop him… and after a while it all became just so… routine.

Complacency is a dangerous thing...

And then something changed… he didn't have the data to determine what exactly, but the Xenos appeared to no-longer care how many of their number were lost… they just kept throwing themselves at him, endless wave after endless wave shattering themselves across his boarding shield.

As far as he could tell they were simply trying to drown him with their superior numbers, or so it seemed from his limited vantage point, which only confused the Veteran Sergeant even more. Either they had simply given up and were in the process of a suicide-charge… or they were trying to delay him. The success of their latest tactic was positively laughable, in fact their current tactic allowed him to close into CQB far easier than before. He hoped they never learned that little to nothing could stop a charging Space Marine. He continued his onward trek… he could just see the Outer-Structural Wall of the Space-Port up ahead of him in the distance… just a few hundred meters and –

 **Pain… pure unadulterated pain… was being channelled straight through his helmet... straight through his head.**

Through the pain he realised what he was experiencing. He had been struck by a sudden alien psychic pulse, one which caused him to stumble and fall to one knee, dropping his shield, as the pulse spiked through his already tormented mind (further aggravating his previous psychic injuries) and driving any possible rational thought that remained right out of his skull. Eventually… gradually… the pain ebbed… like thick treacle… until, a small semblance of normalcy returned. And just as his began to regain his sense –

 _ **SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**_

The heavens filled with a gods-awful blood-curdling scream, his nerves already battered and blue, were being torn red and bloody, by the screams... of terror... the screams of the damned. Their mournful wails seemed tinny and… **fake** , a miserable synthetic facsimile, but still more than enough to drive Sigmund to his knees... especially in his weakened state. He turned his gaze heavenward as the chaos-black leviathan, wreathed in scarlet crackling lightning that seemed to arch around its twisted form, began to rise up... higher and higher. He watched it for several moments more, until the twisted black daemon of a ship lifted up and out of the Atmosphere... before it final disappeared from visual range.

Turning back towards the Space Port, at the very edge of his – now – very limited Witch-Sight, what had once been a raging torrent of Warp Energy… had quickly died down to little more than a trickle.

 _Perhaps that's the Beacon_ , he realised mentally, _perhaps it's some kind of xeno-tech… probably… they may have somehow managed to replicate the abilities of an Astropath… artificially... maybe_.

But that hardly mattered right now, so rising up to his considerable full height, Sergeant Sigmund, continued his inexorable charge toward… dum-dum-dahh!... his Destiny…

 **(Okay, maybe that was way too corny, so to be more specific, he… "continued his inexorable charge toward…" the Space Port.)**

* * *

Upon a small hill, a little ways away from where Sigmund's journey had begun, sat an old, weathered and bent figure that would be invisible… to most. His sight; capable of seeing more than most, was locked upon the twisted Heavens. His Robes are plain, faded and dull... reminiscent of a monks habit, and not - say - the Robes of Office of one of the most powerful men in this or any galaxy.

And so we have come upon the ethereal form of the Sigillite, whose turned his gaze from the giant soulless construct only once it had left the solar system. Seemingly satisfied with his mournful observance, of a... being... that was clearly Death personified leaving this poor world, he then let his sight fall down toward the blackened City. His eyes were inexorably drawn from his hilltop toward where he could sense the upcoming meeting of two giants, that would one day soon shake the very foundation of the Citadels of Power within this untouched Galaxy.

In particular; he focussed his mind upon the Space-Port, and with but a thought, crossed the material distance with a single immaterial step. He arrived just in time to witness the final preparations, as the soulless machines set-up rows upon rows of their inexhaustible rifles, such things he had seen these automatons use before. He saw them set and activate a series of terrible world-killers, and he hoped… _**he prayed**_ … to which higher power he knew not… that the heroes that were approaching this place of prophecy would arrive in time…

* * *

 **And there's Chapter 3... sorry if I didn't respond to all the reviews last time, I didn't check them until after I had posted.**

 **I would like to thank Eipok, The Poarter and Ursakar; for their critiques, I honestly didn't think about the differences between 'sapient' and 'sentient'. To respond Ursakar's review(s), I felt that such a crossover could be done, and with the exception of your own Warhammer 40k / Mass Effect crossover which I thoroughly enjoy reading, the rest were however (not to be rude) poorly conceived. Yes Warhammer Tech pretty much thrashes everything in Fictional Existence (even Star Wars... probably... don't quote me on that), therefore we need to balance the Story, but simply out numbering the Stronger Force won't do... I have been contemplating writing this Story ever since the day I created my profile on Fanfiction, and what I hope to achieve is a story where the main OC protagonists can't simply muscle their way through the Story. For instance think about the concept of Collateral Damage, my handling of such a concept has been drawn from Novels such as "Know No Fear" by Dan Abnett, where one of the main non-Astartes characters is killed by the over-pressure of the Bolter rounds going off in close proximity too their position. That's not to say that a Space Marine would not kill everything when firing his Bolter, its just that he may choose not to fire instead. Also my setting should be taken into account, for those who are not aware (in contrast to the 40K Time-line) the Time before the Horus Hersey (approx. M31) was a Time of enlightenment and progress... were the Emperor openly rebuffed claims of his divinity by the Masses... as reflected in later Space Marine teachings with lines such as, "he was the greatest of us all... but he was still a man." For those of you who have read - some of - the Horus Hersey series you may have noted the references to "Prospero Burns" and "A Thousand Sons" in the Prologue and sprinkled throughout the following Chapters.**

 **I plan to Re-Edit all Chapters posted over the December Holidays, at which point I can properly apply your advice to past works, in the same way I have applied it to the current ones.**

 **I wish to apologize to Blinded in a Bolthole and any others I might have offended, for my attempt at Asari-Gender-Description, if not out-right confusion... for any and all offense it implied or caused. I had honestly did not think that it would cause offense, and will look to rectify it at the earliest convenience... Damn it now I sound like a bloody politician. I think that the best explanation for my own confusion came when reading Surfing into Mass Effect and Turning the Tide by BlackCat3978, where the main character stumbles over Asari biology to try and explain (sort of) that she isn't - well - Gay (see Chap 38, 39 or 40... I think). I sympathized with this character simply because I stumbled over my own attempt at defining Asari Biology.**

 **Oh and please don't take any of these responses as Arrogance, I am well aware of my own limitations... for instance I would never Write a Halo or Deus Ex crossover because there are already such great Stories (by DinoJake and IgnusDei respectively) that are far better than I could possibly hope to write or even conceive. My hope is to fill a writing niche were there is little to no crossovers or Characters (like funny Space Marines)...**

 **Finally for those of you who like to fact check, you will most likely find some discrepancies a bit later on in the following Chapters, most probably the Time-Line. In my research I found things to be a little contradictory and therefore to buy time to explain and untangle a myriad of conflicting facts I have extended the period of the Crusade by a few years. However it will still be roughly over two hundred years long, and I may or may not release my slightly AU timeline at a later date.**

 **Thank You for Reading**

 **Next Update will be on: 31/10/2013**

* * *

 **Sorry about the delay, I really had a good excuse... and then I went a spent nearly 18 Hours playing Stellaris... and I left my excuse out in the sun, and it melted, and I'm rambling, but I don't know how to stop - THWACK!**

 **Okay... I'm better now...**

 **So a lot has happened since I last posted...**

 **Mass Effect: Andromeda came out... I swore I wouldn't touch it... two hundred hours in I sort've don't regret spending nearly a Grand on the damn thing... most of the time.**

 **And that led to another plot bunny that I'm struggling to write... which interfered with my attempts to finish writing the Feros Arch of this Gods-Be-Damned Story... which led me to search for more inspiration by play ME:A... and the vicious cycle continues...**

 **But hey, I've got a great story going, and even if I'm struggling to get it on paper, at least I'm getting it done one bit at a time...**

 **I've written about three sentences... in the last week... but hey... the first 1000 words were written in less than 2 hours... so there's that.**

 **Anyhoo expect the next update on 2017/05/31.**

 **And for those of you who may be interested, I've updated Atlas Unbound, and posted the first Chapter of A Matter Of Time.**

 **Both are Stargate Crossovers... One Warhammer and One COD Infinite Warfare... (some people hated it, but I loved it... crappy stuttering glitches and all).**

 **Thanks for Reading, see you in a month.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Date Published:31/05/2017**

 **Date Re-Edited:10/12/2016**

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **\- Return to Armageddon -**

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Tram Station=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[32.31.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: +** **32.31.00]=+**

* * *

Transit.

Exit.

Aww… Shit.

They all travelled in silence, along the track in a battered cargo-tram, for what seemed like an eternity. With their nerves raw, the short period between stations... the short period of inaction seemed to last forever… as at least one of the team was always vigilant and on watch for more of those flying drones.

Otherwise they kept to themselves, checking and rechecking their gear… with at least one finger resting on a trigger at all times. However after ten minutes of no-contact, the they all began to relax… Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams in particular, was starting to feel a little... guilty. She'd been slightly too shell-shocked by the sudden Geth Attack, and the traumatising deaths of her entire Squad… to even think to ask for the names of her saviours… which she felt was a touch rude seeing as they had just saved her hide.

So as inconspicuously as she could, she began observing her new... Commander… it was hard to see her face what with that helmet in the way, but from what she had seen so far… she wanted to stay on her slightly less-scary good side…

 _So… how to do this_ , thought Ashley thinking carefully.

The Commander stood against the side rail of the open-topped Tram typing away at her Omni-Tool, looking slightly less frightening than she did a few minutes ago. Ashley was hopeful that she could get some information from her new – rather sombre looking – Commander (without losing some of her more favourite body parts), so she decided to step up to the plate, and -

"Uhm… sorry to interrupt Commander," she stumbled on her way up to the plate, wincing slightly at the rather sharp glare Shepard gave her in return.

"I hope this is important… Chief."

"Sorry, but Commander, er… you, uhm… you never told me your names, um… Ma'am," Ashley finished – a tad bit – lamely, in her own opinion at least.

"What… don't you have a data-link to our Tac-Net?" asked Commander in confusion.

"Er – no… I don't have clearance to access an N7 – or even an N5 for that matter – data-net," she explained a hint of anger in voice, "besides… their blocking all our Comm-frequencies… I can't even pick up your Omni-Tools... ah... Commander."

The Commanders glare – softened – her eyes quickly flicking from her Omni-Tool to her new sub-ordinate.

"Sorry Chief, you should've spoken up earlier," she turned toward the Sentinel standing over the Tram Controls next to her, "this is Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko…"

Turning back to face the Chief, the woman identified herself as, "and I am Commander Jane Shepard."

Unbeknownst to Ashley – and the Squad in general – she would be the second person to be saved from a dislocated jaw by her helmet that day. However Shepard wasn't feeling so lucky… the look she saw on the Chiefs' face (the part she could see at least) was one she had seen before, several times before. It was a look that filled her heart with dread… It was the look of a –

"OH MY GOOD… Your Shepard," squealed Ashley like a little girl, "you're **the** Shepard!"

A…a… **a** … _ **Fangirl!**_

Shepard turned to her trusty Lieutenant… looking for help… but unfortunately he just stood there with a smug look on his face… seemingly enjoying this new development far – **far** – too much.

 _The Bastard_ , Shepard fumed incensed, _and here I was going to feel guilty for using him as a human shield._

Turning back to the new... horror... she had on her hands, the Commander tried her best not to think of ways to... 'Dispose' of her new 'groupie'... Shepard could only shake her head at that thought. The 'groupie' part... not the killing part... the idea of murdering her adoring public one by one was not a new one. This was probably the one thing that they didn't teach her how to handle in basic – or at Officer Training School or even at the 'Villa'

They taught her how to rewired an Eezo-Core with pocket change... how to call in an orbital bombardment using a flashlight... the one thing they didn't teach the Commander how to deal with was... _**creepy**_ Fans. But before she could talk down her new fangirl down –

 **Beeeeeep…**

The proximity warning on a nearby consol went off. They had arrived at the Star Port.

"Okay, Team… Form up, I've got point," Shepard commanded, as she led her Squad out onto a wide platform cluttered with waist high grey crates.

In the vanguard of their formation, Shepard panned her Hand-Cannon from left to right and back again.

In the middle of the squad, with his Pistol out and a scanner engaged his Omni-Tool, Kaiden was watching their left flank.

While Williams brought up the rear with her Assault Rifle, scanning the right side of the platform for hostiles.

"Clear," called Shepard from her position near the rail, she halted waiting for the rest of her Squad to sound off.

 _So far… so good_ , thought Shepard…

Once again challenging the Universe.

 **Beep** … came a rather innocuous sounding tone from Alenko's Omni-Tool.

"Uhm, Commander… my Geiger-Counters getting a reading."

"Crap…"

* * *

 **+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=8 Kilometres from the Space Port=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[?.?.?]=+**

 **+=[mark: +** **32.31.00]=+**

* * *

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Building after building.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Street after Street.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Kilometre after kilometre.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Sergeant Sigmund kept on running at a breakneck pace. He'd been at it for the last five minutes… during which he had no contact with the enemy whatsoever hostile or otherwise. According to his armours internal cogitator, he had managed to achieve an average speed of about fifteen kilometres an hour, since his last hostile contact. Using the visual suite within his helm, Sigmund had set – as a waypoint – a tower opposite the Space Port and used it as a visual land mark. According to his range-finder it was beyond 'Visual Range' of his equip –

 **Beep…**

 _Okay, at most ten 'kays' to go_ , thought Sigmund, _time to pick up the pace._

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

However less than thirty seconds later he had -

 **Contact.**

In the time between seconds, in the moment between beats, Sigmund's gene-hanced mind began to analyse the battlefield:

 **+=[mark: + 02.32.00]=+**

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Twenty-two enemy contacts; no civilian or allied units._

 _Twenty-one infantry units; one quad-walker._

 _ **Tactical:**_ _Three infantry squads supporting an armoured unit._

 _Courtyard, running along main road; no over-watch._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _Engage two unsupported squads at range._

 _Eliminate Walker and supporting Squad utilising Melta-Charge._

Time began to move again.

He shifted his Shield, freeing up his left hand.

Before the Geth could detected his presence –

 **Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink.**

 **BANG!**

 _First squad eliminated…_

He charged through their remains.

 _Second squad sighted. Engage…_

 **Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink.**

Three rounds centre mass.

 _Second squad eliminated…_

Crunch, a broken platform collapsed under his armoured boot.

He juggled his bolter with practised ease as he reached for his belt.

He disengaged the mag-lock on one of the Melta Charges.

 **Chink…**

He thumbed the activation lever.

And lobbed the Charge, up and over the flash-light heads of the nearest Geth.

He was still charging away from the Quadruped-Mech and the last squad of hostiles when –

 **Boom-Whoosh.**

His inner visor polarised… then cleared.

His boots crunching as he crushed the remains of the Geth force under an armoured heel.

 _Walker eliminated. Third squad eliminated._

 **+=[mark: + 07.32.00]=+**

He broke contact with the enemy, none of them remained. He continued down the road until –

He rounded the corner, checking the boulevard laid out in front of him, but before he could cross the street –

"By the Ancients," breathed out the stunned Legionnaire, _I sense, no warp sorcery... and yet…_

The cross-street was lined with spikes.

Each one baring but a single mangled victim.

Each one had turned a dark ashen grey and twisted into...

Sometimes it was better not to name things... it gave them power...

And yet… according to his Witch-Sight…

Each and every victim… still had their Souls...

They were still alive... and yet... there was no way...

He sensed no warp taint... no nothing.

It was almost… clinical… no emotion…

This wasn't done by Man… it felt almost…

 _How could machines do this,_ he wondered, never once lower his bolter or his shield _, do they even understand the concept of psychological warfare?_

Before he could analyse this… atrocity further, a lone corpse twitched.

Before he could investigate the motion however… the spikes began to descend.

Before he could wonder upon this latest development… the corpses began to rise up…

They slid of the smooth objects impaling them, and the **Husks** began to shuffle towards him…

 **It was amazing just how natural that name felt...**

 **Beep…**

 **+=[EMP Field Detected]=+**

His mind shifted, allowing his inner analytical savant to once more return to the fore…

 **+=[mark: + 45.32.00]=+**

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Fifty plus Contacts; deceased… assume Hostile._

 _No unit cohesion apparent; assume Swarm Behaviour._

 _No apparent Weapons; assume Close Quarters Combat Abilities_

 _Electro-Magnetic Signatures; indicative of tactical electronic warfare._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _Discharge EMP at range; deploy Grenade._

 _Engage Hostiles in CQB; utilise Nemesis Blade._

 _Disengage from Hostiles; before they can recharge_

 _Repeat as necessary…_

Like a statute of a Hindu-deity, his hands began to move in a circle.

Shield over his shoulder, his Bolter mag-locked to his thigh.

Left… Down… Round…

Right… Up… Round…

Left-hand to Grenade-Dispenser.

Right-hand to the Hilt of his Power-Sword.

He advanced upon the Cybernetic Horrors.

At ten feet… he threw the Grenade, underhanded.

At five feet… he drew and swung his Blade.

 **Whump… Crackle…**

 _Minus twelve Contacts…_

 **Slick…**

 _Minus three Contacts… Withdraw…_

 **+=[mark: + 48.32.00]=+**

He fell back, a dozen paces.

And lobbed another Grenade into the Horde.

He advanced forward once again… toward the groaning cyber-zombies.

 **Whump… Crackle…**

 _Minus seventeen Contacts…_

At five feet, he slashed his blade across the Horde.

 **Slick…**

 _Minus four Contacts… Withdraw…_

 **+=[mark: + 50.32.00]=+**

He fell back again, to the right.

Lobbed a final Grenade… centre of the enemy mass.

He readied his shield advanced into the Husks… once more.

At five feet, he thrust his sword… impaling a zombie, his shield deflecting a blow.

 **Shick...**

 **Frump… Crackle…**

 _Minus fourteen Contacts…_

A final sweep of his blade, beheading the last two Contacts.

 _Minus two Contacts. Negative Contact. Advance…_

 **+=[mark: + 54.32.00]=+**

With a quite deadly purpose he advanced through the field of... Un-Life… his gaze locked on the Horizon, he did his utmost best not to focus on just how small some of the Husks appeared. The Marine simply continued his advance towards one of his primary objectives. Blinded as he was by his journey through the Warp, he was almost oblivious to any and all that may have been observing him – unseen – from a distance. He also remained ignorant of the meeting that was about to unfold… as he stepped forward, each of his footfalls shaking the very foundations of this strange new Galaxy.

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Space Port=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[54.32.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: +** **54.32.00]=+**

* * *

Kaiden Alenko was having a long… 'stressful' day.

They had just lost the Rookie…

And he felt responsible.

Their Commanding Officer was probably Psychotic… or at the very least **unhinged** …

And for some strange reason he felt responsible for that too.

And now… they had a Nuke to disarm…

Alenko knew for a fact that he was definitely responsible for that one!

There was only one word to properly explain a day like today, and that word was… Monday.

Sadly – it was Thursday – which only made that little fact so much worse, because dealing such temporal improbabilities went far beyond what he was capable of…

Honestly he couldn't deal with more than one Monday a Week!

The bomb (or bombs) on the other hand, that he could deal with -

 **Beep...**

The sound of the count-down growing ever shorter, drew him from his ever more maudlin thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Kaiden quickly activated his Omni-Tool, and began as thorough scan of the device he was kneeling in front of as he could with the time he had left.

"Accessing the Device now," he called out toward the rest of the Squad.

 **+=[Interfacing]=+**

 **+=[Exchanging Hand-Shake Protocol]=+**

 **+=[Loading Directories]=+**

This brought a crease to the Sentinels brow, there were three Directories…

 **+=[Firing Algorithm]=+**

 **+=[Diagnostic]=+**

 **+=[Networked Devices]=+**

"Talk to me Alenko," Shepards' voice broke him out of his growing internal deliberations, "what have we got?"

"I'm getting a strong return on my Geiger Counter from this Device, and so far there appears to be no Security… no Firewalls… no Encryption."

His fingers continued to dance across the Haptic-Interface – of his Omni-Tool – as Alenko accessed the first Directory – the Firing Algorithm – only to get…

 **+=[Access Denied]=+**

… and a Count-Down appeared.

 **+=[00:13:54]=+**

 **+=[00:13:53]=+**

 **+=[00:13:52]=+**

"Shit… I've got a count-down here, Commander," Alenko called over his shoulder, his other hands flying over the Haptic-Interface suspended over the bomb, "I'm busy… by-passing."

Thinking back to his Sentinel Training, Kaiden started off by bombarding the Firing Algorithm with his own customised set of hackware and several attack packages he had written himself, only to get… nothing. The attack software would sail towards the bastion-like firewalls surrounding the Devices primary memory cache, only to strike and then just as suddenly dissipate, leaving nary a scratch on the Holographic Cube… that represented the Devices Firing Directory. It just sat there, unmoving… inviolable.

 **+=[00:13:48]=+**

 _Time to change tactics_ , growled Kaiden mentally, as he began going through his options, _maybe another Directory… ahhh…_

Switching Directories, he quickly brought up the Diagnostic Cube, it glowed bright orange… and was made up of a million other tiny pixel-ated block-like cubes. With a few deft strokes of his armoured fingers, he opened a modified Overload program and with a flick of his wrist, let it loose to streak toward the Directories firewalls, much like a red Comet trailing digital smoke. It struck the orange Cube… dissolving several small security cubes and easily poisoning the rest. In a wave of blue electronic smoke the Cube gradually turned for a garish orangey-yellow to a soft electric-blue. Eventually the entire Cube turned blue and (with a small chime) the hacked directory was forced to do an internal Diagnostic, and – _Bingo!_

 **+=[00:13:32]=+**

The case hissed open, exposing a snake pit of twisting… ensnared wires, gingerly Kaiden's hand reached out and snaked into the pit. Slowly… gently… trying his utmost not to disturb the sleeping – possibly apocalyptic – metallic creature, as his hand rifled through its chest cavity, slowly searching for -

 **Ah-HA!**

As if bitten, Kaiden ripped his hand out of the tangled snake-pit filled with wires… a small innocuous silvery sphere clutched in his fist. He opened his hand and gazed down at the small flickering power-core resting in the palm of his hand… as the holographic screen of the Device slowly died, and according to his Omni-Tool at least, the Mass Effect Field that held together the super-heavy radioactive isotope failed all together. Without it, the increased gravitational field that held tiny micro-gram of a Synthetic Radioactive Particulate together collapsed. Without the field acting to hold the atoms of the Isotope together... the molecular bonds holding the synthetic element gave way leaving the high-tech 'firing pin' completely inert. Without it, the Device was just a lead-lined box… filled with a few kilograms of radioactive waste.

 **+=[00:13:14]=+**

 _Just a fancy dirty-bomb_ , thought Kaiden dismissively, _it wouldn't have really destroy that much… just a few hundred metres around it… so why…?_

Kaiden shook his head, they weren't trying to destroy the Colony… they were trying to kill it. You couldn't farm land that was radioactive… hell after this attack on a supposedly 'safe' world; Colonial investment would probably dry-up all together.

"Got it Commander," Kaiden announced cheerfully, what with this latest crisis oh-so narrowly avoided... for all of what? Five seconds, "…Ah-oh…"

According to the Networked Devices Directory, this Device was One… of Five…

 **+=[00:13:05]=+**

* * *

"Ah-oh… what do you mean 'Ah-oh'?" Shepard demanded with a sense of rising exasperation, she yelled back that, "the last person you ever want to here say 'Ah-oh' is your Bomb-Disposal Technician."

Alenko turned toward the Commander looking quite sheepish indeed, "well Commander… according to the Data I just accessed, this Device, is One of Five…"

 _Shit, just what I need_ , thought Shepard warily as her sarcasm started a war with her depression for the controls to her mouth.

 **+=[00:12:58]=+**

"Alright people, form up on me," commanded Shepard almost robotically, leaving the two bitter emotions to duke it out for the controls of her final last words, "Alenko you've got point."

They advanced along the open station platform toward the closest retaining wall; they quickly formed a Tac-Stack and shuffled along the wall… only to round the corner and –

 _ **Damn**_ , cursed Shepard mentally as she caught sight of what lay ahead.

The path split directly in front of them; up to the left and down to the right. To the left was a stairway leading to a raised platform, which ran along the side of the tramway trench. Two bridges ran across the tramway, one high and one bellow, the former was further and the later was closer. The bridges crossed to another platform, which was almost identical to the one on their side. After a moment's thought Shepard – using an ancient martial art, which was possessed by all great leaders throughout history – made her decision…

 **+=[00:12:49]=+**

"Enie… Meanie… Mynie… MO…!"

"Uhm… Commander, what are you doing?" asked Kaiden worriedly.

"I'm making a Mission Critical decision," replied the redhead in an off-hand and above all flippant way, as she flicked her finger left and right.

Coming at last to a decision Shepard declared that, "Okay… you and Williams go left… and I'll go right…"

"Uhm… are you –"

Shepard – with a swipe of her hand through the air – cut Kaiden off before he could even gather the energy to critique her properly, declaring, "You'll hold the high ground, and I'll flank 'em from bellow."

With confidence, they didn't have more than a few minutes ago, the Marines declared in stereo, "Aye Commander."

So the Squad quickly split up, with Shepard descending down to the bridge, while Kaiden and Ashley proceeded up to the raised platform. Kaiden and Ashley, where halfway up the stairs… when Shepard finally began to cross the lower bridge.

 **+=[00:12:25]=+**

So far so goo –

 **Crack!**

Hypersonic rounds, roared out the end of the automatons guns, towards the lone Commander… who stood exposed on the bridge.

The tiny sand-grain sized projectiles screeched towards her, ricocheting off the deck-plating (off the Bridge) beneath her boots…

The hypersonic particles were pitting the metallic surface beneath her and fizzing as they were deflected by her Kinetic-Barriers.

Adrenalin… burned through her veins… her heart began to drum away… the rounds just kept getting closer… and closer…

Her heart was hammering away… faster and faster… in moments the line rounds drilling right toward her would -

 **Shepard desperately kicked her pace up a notch…**

Halfway across the bridge, **Fzzzzt** , her shields began to flicker…

Bringing up her Pistol she blind fired, back at the platform behind her…

The muzzle roared over shoulder, while her boots slammed into the decking bellow…

The stairs were more than ten paces away… seven… four… three… two… one… **Fzzzzzzzzt** …

She reached the stairs, just as her kinetic-shields started failing, halfway up… they broke… shattering like glass…

 **Snap** … she was thrown down sprawled across the stairs…

 **Thrumm** … reflexively her Biotics saved her from being torn to ribbons…

On instinct she scrabbled on her hands and feet up the last few steps… scrambling to her feet…

She leapt over a crate… tumbling behind it… scrambling on hands and knees… slamming into cover…

Firing blindly over the rounded crate… she kept her head down, as hypersonic projectiles tore past her cover…

"Okay Kaiden… *[pant]* talk to me, where's the nearest Device?"

=Uhm Commander… your _**leaning**_ against it…=

 **+=[00:12:00]=+**

"Wonderful... "

* * *

 **+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=Space Port=+**

 **+=[042.183.M03]=+**

 **+=[00.34.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: +** **00.34.00]=+**

* * *

Malcador stood passively upon the embankment above the retaining wall of the Tram Station that led to the embattled Space Port.

He was invisible to all – in the eyes of this Universe the hill-side stood empty…

The ethereal First Lord could care less what the people of this Galaxy thought of him… he was here with purpose. He was here to observe this Commander 'Shepard'. He wanted to see her abilities… he wanted to test her mettle… not only had she peaked his curiosity, but being able to observe her in combat against these mechanical abominations and compare her progress to that of Sergeant Sigmund… well… this was too good an opportunity to let slip through his fingers.

There had to be something special about this woman… something that the Emperor had foreseen… something – even with his far-sight – that the Sigillite just couldn't perceive… there was something that made her a vital and unique instrument in the war that was to come.

Observing her… all of her... the burning muscles in her legs... her lungs working feverishly to draw in air... her heart hammering away in her chest... neither the individual pieces or the sum of her parts gave away just what exactly made her unique... no matter how much energy he poured into his Witch-Sight... he just couldn't see it.

Her Aura wasn't that unique either, it was nearly identical to that of the male on her team; it had the same purplish-blue stain marring her true colours. He couldn't get a read on her soul, so he focused his Witch-Sight on them… trying to see past the purplish-black nebulae that seemed to flow through their veins… swirling around a series of strange blue nodules of a substance that he couldn't quite place… the substance seemed to Warp the very space around them, but left the flesh and bone alone. They bore the same weapons and armour… there was nothing special about either of them… they had the same implants at the back of their skulls. The male's implants seemed older though… no... that wasn't it… he swept his gaze over their equipment again to see if –

 _Wait is that woman wearing pink?_

He was slightly shell-shocked at the Soldiers particular choice in camouflage, that he completely missed the discussion between 'Shepard' and her sub-ordinates. He was drawn back to the scene playing out in front of him however, when Shepard began to sprint away from her Squad, across the bridge.

 _What kind of coward, runs from –_

Before he could finish that thought, the machines began to open fire on the sprinting warrior. But before machines could focus the forces to strike her down… her sub-ordinates had struck them in the flank, while they were distracted. They were torn to shreds, before they could even respond… half of their number – on the left-hand platform – were been cut down.

 _Impressive… they act as individuals, and yet… they complement each other so well_ , contemplated Malcador as he watched the strange battle unfold.

Like a well choreographed play, they danced back and forth dealing death to their enemies… one would damage or hinder a group of machines, and another would slowly whittle away at their exposed machinery.

 _I wonder, is such training common? Or is this a special fighting style that this 'Shepard' has developed herself?_

He was however, suddenly drawn from his increasingly internal contemplations, when he saw Shepard's shields flicker as she began to dodge enemy fire. As he watched her shields crack… he reached out and felt…

Is that –

Her shields broke… she stumbled and –

How is that possible?

Before his very eyes, he watched her draw energies from the Warp into her body… and with a flash… her form was consumed by blue swirling flames, distorting her visible form. He turned back to watch the other half of her team, and saw that at least one of the other soldiers of her squad was a Psyker... or maybe not... the Warp Energy travelled through her, but he felt no... emotion... no anger... no rage tainting the energies surging through her veins... it felt very... mechanical.

And it was through this observation that he become quite interested in this multifaceted woman, this 'Shepard'… this latent Psyker… and much like a moth to a flame he was drawn towards her… he wished - oh-so desperately - to see into her mind. He wanted to unravel the increasing number of mysteries that seemed to surround this woman… he wanted to see just what made her tick. And so he took a single immaterial step towards her… crossing the hundred or so metres that separated him… from her position in cover.

He arrived in time to hear the most bizarre of words, "Well... how was I supposed to know that?!"

* * *

 **+=[00:11:59]=+**

Shepard had faced the worst the Galaxy had to offer.

She had faced the most gruelling training known to man.

She had faced the most brutal and violent scum the Galaxy had to offer.

She had faced and survived terrible things that killed the weak and laid low the strong.

But now… she faced something that – truly – brought fear into her heart… she was expected to defuse a bomb – not usually a problem – however... they expected her to do it with her Omni-Tool… with technology… Ah-Oh… Not exactly her preferred tools… such as say a pocket knife and a roll of duck-tape.

"Okaaaay… so how am I supposed to do this?" Shepard asked her esteemed technical colleague, the exasperation was almost dripping from her voice… and the sarcasm levels were rising to dangerous levels.

 **+=[00:11:38]=+**

 **=Okay, now open your Apps Folder and – =**

"What's an App?" asked a bemused Shepard, her face creased in confusion.

 **= … =**

"Kaiden?"

 **=Okay, okay… go to your directory and – =**

"What's a Directory?"

After a moment of silence, Kaiden tried again **=Alright… let's try this… I'm sending you an E-mail… You know what an E-mail is right? =**

"Er… yeah."

 **='Kay, I'm sending you a link… You got it? =**

"Yep."

 **=Good, now open it and tap the icon called 'Overload'… =**

"Got it… Now what?"

 **=Now flick it at the Device… =**

"I got an error message…"

 **=ARRRRGH *[Static]* =**

"Alenko?"

 **=Listen very carefully, Shepard… now, put your finger on the cube marked 'Overload." =**

"Okay…"

 **=Now… point your wrist at the Bomb. Run your finger down your arm at the Device. =**

"Done… the case is opening… Now what?" queried a quite curious Shepard, as the device actually did what she told it too do... somehow.

 **=You have to carefully remove the Power-Supply from – =**

"I know how to do that," Shepard whined petulantly, "why didn't you tell me to do that in the first place? I could've done that without this stupid glowing _**thing!**_ "

 **=Wha – … you mean… you just made me waste, the last five minutes – under-fire – for – =**

"Well… how was I supposed to know that?! I don't know how to use this damn thing," muttered Shepard irritably as she shook her Omni-Tool until it went away, she didn't know how to turn it off... come to think of it the manual for the damn thing was still probably propping up the corner of that rickety old Coffee-Table at her Moms place.

 **= … THUD *[Static]*… =**

 **+=[00:08:59]=+**

Shepard shrugged, and quickly disarmed the Device using her pocket-knife.

"Alenko? Alenko… you there? Talk to me," Shepard called in exasperation, "Williams what happened?"

 **=Uhm… the LT just slammed his head into a crate… I think he's okay, I'm more worried about the Geth… he seems very angry at them for some reason… =**

With a shrug Shepard turned back to the battle at hand, shooting a quick look over the railing to see that Williams and Alenko had drawn the attention of most the Geth… easing the volume of fire off of her position… but that wouldn't last. It was obvious that the Geth had some sort of wireless alarm built into the Devices, because it didn't take them long to turn their focus - and their fire - back on Shepard's withering cover… while a whole new squad of the Mechanical Bastards made a move on Williams and Alenko's position.

 _Okay you bastards, take this!_

She swung out of cover, her armour scraping as she rounded the corner of a nearby support-pillar. Acting on well-honed instinct she drew her arm back and slammed out a devastating Biotic Punch… that sailed through the air like a canon-ball, smashing into a group of white-painted Geth - exploding violently - casting them aside and sending them tumbling across the platform like a bunch of ragdolls.

 **+=[00:08:03]=+**

* * *

Upon a wooded hillock, less than a hundred metres from the Space Port… a dark pin-prick appeared no more than four feet above the ground. Around this most innocuous of pin-pricks the very Fabric of Reality began to thin… the very Essence of Space and Time began to stretch… and the world around it began to bend, and much like a fragile rod of glass… finally snapped under the strain.

From this eldritch tear in the Fabric of Reality… strode a large and mysteriously robed figure. The tall – unnaturally thin – humanoid strode from the portal wreathed in a shall of violent twisting energies. In its long fingered - almost delicate looking - hands it carried a long white – almost organic – Rifle… the likes of which this world had never seen before. The beings form was still shrouded by the mysterious warp energies which seemed to cling to the dark-emerald leather duster it wore. With its shadowy green hood, its strangely short sleeves and its multitude of swirling coat-tails. Each step exposed both of the dark-brown cavalrymen's knee-length boots it wore... the sunlight flashing and yet not reflecting off of the plethora of silvery buckles that ran down its calf from knee to ankle... in fact the boots were strangely as dull as the greenish brown elbow-length gloves it wore.

From within the shadowy depths of the dark leather coat, jutted a pair of pale-white wooden pistol grips each accented with metal that looked like but couldn't possibly be bronze... even under the dim light of a late afternoon, they seemed to draw in the dull rays of sunlight... but neither seemed at all willing to return it. Both of these strange pistols contrasted quite elegantly with the bronze hilted sabre which sat lightly on the woven-leather belt which was cinched around the enigmas waist. This strangely exotic and eclectic collection of equipment was not what drew the eye of the casual observer… Oh-no… it wasn't the eldritch guns or the bronze hilted blade… it was the pair of piercing emerald green eyes that were bisected by a pair of alien – yet elegant – tattoos that disappeared under the smooth organic looking bone-white respirator that the strange being wore.

After a moment of inaction… in one smooth very well practised motion, the Eldar Pathfinder, dropped to one knee and brought her Rifle up to her shoulder. Behind her the violation of Space and Time lay forgotten as it quietly slipped shut, returning this battered world back into a sense of normality... of a sorts. Eagerly her eyes turned downward, and Taldeer the Outcast turned all of her considerable abilities to search for her prey. With an ease born from endless repetition; the scope of her bone-white long Rifle quickly found its way onto the mechanical battle between the Humans and these soulless automatons in the Transit Station – that led to the Space Port – far below. Within moments – and with well-practise ease – she had quickly zeroed on the female Mon-keigh leader... centring her within the sights of her Rifled scope.

 _ **Hmmmm…**_

And what Taldeer saw intrigued her to no end; she was a veteran Ranger, a Pathfinder whom had lost her way on the Path of the Outcast long ago… and still... even in all those centuries of wandering she had never seen a Psyker quite like the strangely youthful human on the field of battle below her... fighting towards the strongly contested gates of the war-ravaged Space Port. This Mon-keigh… this 'Shepard'… glowed with strange eldritch energies the likes of which she had neither seen nor heard of before, and yet… according to her Scope and the rest of her equipment… she could detect little to no Warp energy involved in her powers… certainly her strange abilities far exceeded the small amount of energy the Pathfinder was capable of detecting with her own gods-given powers.

 _Interesting – yes certainly – but I could not fathom why I have been sent… according to the Farseer I've been sent to ensure that this_ _ **Mon-Keigh**_ _woman and that Astartes…_ _ **Barbarian**_ _… meet. Surely we can succeed on our own, without the involvement of these…_ _ **blink-lives**_ , she muttered irritably within the confines of her mind, unlike her brethren she neither loathed nor despised the Mon-Keigh, they simply didn't matter.

With a growl she cast such irrelevant thoughts from her mind; such thoughts were those of a lesser child wandering across the Eldar Path for the first time. No... she may have lost herself upon the Path of the Outcast many centuries ago… but such a fate – while terrible to those still freely wandering down the Paths – brought her a sense of clarity that the rest of the Children of Asuryan could not hope to match. She knew – _far better than most_ – that the actions of the Farseer were far – **far** – beyond her Ken… but her motives – _her reasoning_ – were plain – _blindingly so_ – for everyone to see. The Farseer only purpose was to foresee the survival of the Craftworld and the Eldar people towards such a future… that much was clear… beyond that? Who could say…

Every Act… of every Play… of every Performance… was for the betterment of their people… even this strange odyssey into a New Galaxy…

Taldeer was drawn back to the Mon-keigh bellow… fighting for their sad little blink-lives… unlike their brethren back in the… Lost Galaxy… these Mon-Keigh had a grace which the humans in her home Galaxy seemed to have lost long ago… and yet... beneath that graceful veneer there still seethed a fearfully dangerous beast… one that the Eldar had fought before, and would no doubt fight once again… if the Farseers visions were to be believed.

The battle was progressing as she had foretold, but the human advance had stalled… the attackers seemed to have lost their momentum – at the moment at least – and they had bunkered down behind series metal crates… most of which were gradually being worn down by the merciless weapons-fire of those horribly soulless machines. That was another thing that fascinated Taldeer about the people of this New Galaxy… their weapons… it intrigued and infuriated her to no-end. Their weapons were so familiar… just like the Shuriken Pistols at her waist… and yet unlike their brethren in the Lost Galaxy they didn't seem to have even the simplest Laz-Weapons... it was such a contradiction. Such weapons should be by far the simplest and far more easily produced than hers and yet -

She was drawn from her musing when she noticed that only one of the humans seemed to be firing at the Machines.

 _Why weren't they fighting back_ , wondered Taldeer in confusion?

Further… intrigued by the seemingly bizarre behaviour of these humans, Taldeer brought her right-hand up to the leather collar of her hood, were she quickly activated her adapted Warp-Communicator to tap into the Human Vox-Traffic.

After a minute of intercepting the Human squads communications… the ranger began to shake.

Her fingers became boneless, as she dropped her Rifle and clawed desperately at her mask.

She dropped to her hands and knees and her shoulders continued to shake violently…

Until she lost all control, and unable to hold it any longer… she burst out…

… Laughing?

 _Oh by the Gods_ , she thought her mind filled with mirth, _these Mon-keigh are blessed by Cegorath himself._

It touched an ancient – youthful – part of her soul, to think that humans in this Galaxy had perhaps the most obscure and unique of traits that a Child of Man could ever hope to possess.

 _These humans, bizarrely though it may sound, had a sense of… Humour._

Brought back to the battle-at-hand – or perhaps the battle whose tide could be turned by her Hands – Taldeer brought the All-Spectrum-Scope of her Long-Rifle back to her right-eye. Her increased vigilance seemed to coincide with an increased volume of Fire, as well as a renewed offensive against these strange Humans. The machines seemed to be trying to suppress them, as they tried to smother the Mon-Keigh with overwhelming Fire. This turn of events concerned the Veteran Pathfinder, as the Machines got closer and closer to the human-positions; she became more and more concerned as the battle-progressed. As the Battle degenerated… the 'Shepard' became more isolated… and the enemy units just got Bigger and Stronger.

After the first few waves of basic blue-grey automatons that were easily cut down in droves by the – divided – Human guns… the Geth seemed to pause. But that pause didn't last long, even as they forced the Machines back… the Fallen were quickly replaced by newer and stronger White painted Troopers. The disparate Humans could no-longer fight alone… and they didn't disappoint the Enigmatic Ranger on her hill. The Ranger knew that these new units would necessitate a change in Tactics by the Humans, and it fascinated her to see them alter their Tactics on the move. From the single one-on-one Duels – of only a few minutes ago… to an impressive series of almost Eldar-like guerrilla Tactics… impressive...

 _ **For Humans anyway.**_

If Taldeer had any knowledge of Human sports, she would have described the Battle bellow in the Space Port as a rather weirdly organised game of Tennis. The field was dominated by Purple balls energy and strange Orange orbs sailing back and forth across the space between emplacements; these orbs were used to knock opposing units out of Cover, or to disable their guns or simply to bring down their barriers. The Humans wouldn't deploy their abilities to the front though… they would deploy them on the flanks… _Smart_ … using these Tactics they were able to confuse the Logical Machines with such lateral thinking. The machines weren't fighting the soldiers in front of them… they were fighting the soldiers to their left or their right… thus divided, the Humans managed to cut down their technological foes in great swathes… until –

"Uh-Oh," it was around this time that Taldeer spotted a _**minor**_ problem.

Three of them in fact…

She drew a bead on the massive white machines, they were almost as big as the Imperial Astartes that she had once had the pleasure of outwitting. Two of the Behemoths advanced toward the pair of humans on the left… while another began to stomp towards the 'Shepard' cowering behind her little metal barrier. From Taldeer's position the battle only seemed to become more and more precarious as time wore on… it appeared that the 'Shepard' and her team were preoccupied deactivating a series on devices across the Tram-Station… because the only Mon-Keigh – that was firing at the approaching Behemoths – was the one wearing the strange Eldar – armour – like outfit. The giants would take at least a minute to reach the nearest human pair and another minute or more to reach the 'Shepard… wait – they split up… one was crossing the far Bridge… and another pair was advancing on the Pink-Mon-Keigh and other in grey leaning over a strange metal box.

These turn of events had left Taldeer feeling… conflicted.

Her orders were clear; ensure that this 'Shepard and the – in the Farseers words not hers – 'Barbarian' meet. None of the other Mon-keigh were required for this, but without her Squad… Shepard would be quickly over-run by the re-enforcement of soulless machines swarming her position. However… if she fired – her pride – as a Ranger dictated that she would need to shift position to confuse the enemy… and a second Shot would be completely out of the question.

She drew a bead on the Pink-Mon-keigh with her Scope, and accessed the variables…

The first machine got within fifteen paces of the Pink-Human, its shields flaring…

She drew the giant into the centre of her scope, and yet indecision reigned…

The white monstrosity seemed to grow within her scope, getting closer…

He advanced within ten paces; she zeroed the crosshairs on his chest…

He kept getting closer… and closer, his weapon firing eating away…

At the cover on the Tram-platform, soon he was five paces away…

In desperation Taldeer swung her gun and sighted Shepard through her Scope…

Pin-pointing the Human behind cover on the opposite platform, firing away…

Time seemed to slow… Taldeer couldn't delay any further, she had to –

A blue figure crested the embankment above Shepard…

A small smile graced her thin feminine lips as…

She swung her Rifle round, back to the…

Pink-Mon-Keigh and the Pale Giant…

Her finger squeezing gently on…

The Trigger as a bright Lance…

Of Light seared from the…

End of the Barrel…

Toward the…

Platform…

"And so the Blue Dragon finally decides to grace us with his presence. At last we can begin our little play…"

* * *

 **+=[00:06:48]=+**

 _Just cut the damn wire_ , groused Shepard nervously within the confines of her mind.

She pulled at a red wire, quickly bending it over the serrated edge of her Trench-Knife, she'd dropped her trusty little red pocket-knife when she scramble across the platform to the last bomb.

 **+=[00:06:45]=+**

 _Wait… according to the schematic, I must only cut the Rouge wire…_

She picked up another red wire, and…

 **+=[00:06:42]=+**

 _But I mustn't cut the Crimson wire…_

Under helmet her brow creased even further, as she looked at a third red wire…

 **+=[00:06:39]=+**

… _and I mustn't let it touch the Burgundy wire, or…_

She looked down at a fourth red wire…

 **+=[00:06:36]=+**

… _let it cross with the Scarlet wire…_

 _Now… to by-pass the power-core safeties, I must connect the Rouge wire to the Ruby wire…_

Irritated she looked down at the snake pit of red wires snaking throughout the case…

 **+=[00:06:30]=+**

 _Now which ones the Ruby wire?_

"Arghh!" Shepard cried out in frustration, _how am I supposed to know which is which, damn it… I'm a Marine, not a Bloody Interior Decorator!_

 **+=[00:06:27]=+**

In a decision that would probably come back to haunt her, Shepard decided to take a more direct approach. She plunged one hand into the Case, grabbing as many wires as she could, drawing them as far out of the case as she could. With her Trench-Knife in her other hand she bent the wires over the serrated edge.

 **+=[00:06:24]=+**

 _Three… Two… One…_

She ripped through all the wires in one go, and… nothing. She reached into the now open case, and slid the power-core from its housing in the centre of the case.

 **+=[00:06:21]=+**

 **+=[00:06:21]=+**

 **+=[00:06:21]=+**

 **+=[00:06:21]=+**

 _That's two for me and –_

=I got the last one Commander= informed Kaiden over the Comms.

 _Crap… and three for Alenko_ , thought Shepard morosely, _wait… why is nobody shooting at m –_

 **Bang!**

With adrenalin surging through her veins, Shepard spun round trying bringing her Shotgun up to her shoulder when –

 **Boooom!**

 _Whaa?_

She stared in shock at huge white Geth that charged right at her.

 **Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.**

She put shot after shot into the hulking… thing, but its shields were just shrugging it all off… it never once stopped stomping towards her, and she kept a heavy finger on the trigger, until…

 **Fzzzzzzzt…**

Its shields dropped, just a little more and –

 **Click… ssssssssh.**

"Crap!"

Her gun jammed, and the Geth was still charging her.

She sprung from cover, and rolled out of the way.

The Geth smashed through the crates she'd…

Been crouched behind a moment ago…

Dropping her over heated gun…

Drew her Handcannon, spun…

Round to see… the back…

Of the pale machine…

It was reaching…

For the…

 _ **Power-Core!**_

"Oh-no you don't!" yelled the Commander viciously, as she emptied her Heavy Pistol into the great white Geths back.

 **Bang-ping.**

 **Bang-clink.**

 **Bang…**

Nothing she had thrown at it seemed to even put a dent in the things armour… eventually however, irritated it enough that it turned around to face her.

 **Bang… Bang… BANG… Click-ssssssh.**

She dropped her over heated Pistol…

The Geth brought up its… Cannon…

She spun round and ran into cover…

The Geth opened fire, chew away…

At her cover, **Fzzzzt** , and shields…  
A minute into the barrage, with…

A **Crack** , her shields fell, and…

Slammed her a few feet out…

Of cover, bouncing off the…

Metal grating bellow her…

Groggily, she crawled…

Onto her hands and…

Knees, slightly…

Concussed…

She rolled over to find…

With mounting horror as she stared down the gaping maw of the Machines Cannon… aiming right between her eyes.

Cold fury surged violently through her veins…

Timed seemed to slow as her blood burned…

That cold fury turned to a swelling pressure…

Building inexorably at the base of her skull…

The pressure built until she couldn't hold it…

She let a trickle of energy run down her arm…

She pulled back her arm, the power spiked…

As she slammed her fist forward, the energy…

Surging round her sailed forward like a freight-train…

Straight towards the towering and immovable Geth…

The swirling blue orb struck, the Geth Prime staggering it back, crumpling its chest.

Under the rapidly shifting gravities of the Warp, its armour twisted and cracked.

Fighting against the swirling energy, it tried to bring up its giant heavy Rifle.

It tried to lock its Sensors on the glowing organic, throwing energy at it.

Shepard's throat was sore as she roared with laughter…

Her left arm was shaking violently as she pulled…

Back again, her arm sheathed in writhing blue…

Energy, she readied a pneumonic, before…

The alien android could react, Shepard…

Slammed her arm forward, as a wave…

Of pale swirling energy rolled…

Toward the broken machine…

 **THUMP!**

When the over-powered Biotic Push, touched the remnants of the Biotic Warp, the results were… explosive to say the least. The inversely polarised shifting gravity fields annihilated each other, resulting in a massive explosion of Dark Energy. Shepard was flung backwards – like a ragdoll – by the massive surge of colliding and shifting energies. Blacking-out on impact with the platform grating, Shepard hung limply against the twisted railing. Groggily she woke, in pain, more than fifteen feet from the bent crater at the heart of the explosion. She tried to get to her feet, but a sudden pain in the back of her neck, drove her to her knees.

"Well at least –"

 **Click-Shlick…**

With trepidation Shepard was drawn from her thoughts by the ominous sounds of a weapon unfolding. She looked up, and down the barrel, of her own Shotgun. The big Geth – more grey than white now – but that didn't matter to the vulnerable commander because it had picked up her weapon and was pointing it at her head instead.

The last – slightly bitter – thought to rattle through her concussed mind was…

 _Awe come on… you've got to be kidding me!_

* * *

 **Codex Entry: Imperial Technology & Weaponry**

 **Strange… that is quite a succinct word to describe the Technology of Imperial Space… Insane is another word that is often used to describe the Scientists and Engineers of these strange and disparate peoples. And the reason for that is? Simple... most of their weapons technology violates all known Laws of Physics, Matter, Time and Space… and a few Laws we probably don't know about either.**

 **But that is what makes them so fascinating… Put aside the archaic appearance of their technology… Put aside the fact that they have built a Religion around Technology… Put aside any and all preconceptions you may have… and stop and think for a moment. They have Plasma/Fusion Power Generators, they have Ship-to-Ship Laser Weaponry and their Ships violate all Laws of Space and Time to travel Faster-Than-Light. Their equipment is often centuries old, and yet continues to operate flawlessly to this day… it is therefore understandable that they venerate their Technology and openly deride all others.**

 **To further explain their technology let us make a small list of the Types of Weapons that are known to exist within the Imperial Armoury:**

 **Directed Energy Weaponry** **; from small Hand-Held units to Massive ship-board Batteries, of which the amount of power generation required to operate, is staggering… but equally proportional to the distance you wish to project the Beam. Depending on the amount of power at your disposal you could project a beam across a Battlefield or knock an enemy Space-Craft from Orbit.**

 **Plasma Weaponry** **; more rare than Laser Weaponry, the technology needed to deploy such pieces is both volatile and of a magnitude far greater than most Citadel Technology in use today. Reports of such Technology deployed in the field range from small pistol like units, to vehicle mounted Anti-Tank (and Anti-Ship) Weaponry, there is also suggest evidence of Space-Ship mounted Plasma Cannons. However the time taken for a Plasma-Bolt to reach its target limits its effectiveness.**

 **Bolter/Rocket Weaponry** **; the definition of which is… 'a Self-Contained weapons platform, that fires self-propelling munitions.' These 'self-propelled' rounds have several universally standardized calibers; however the platforms and types of munitions utilized are myriad. Most examples of Bolters are extremely expensive and difficult to maintain, and yet there are some reported examples of Bolters that are many centuries old.**

 **Melta Weaponry** **; utilize a miniature fusion reaction to generate a blast of intense searing heat, depending upon their configuration the heat could be projected in a searing stream of plasma or blasted out like a shotgun in a wide cone of heat. They are however considered to be Directed Energy Weaponry by most Citadel conventions.**

 **Power Weapons** **; appear to look like archaic Medieval Weaponry to the casual observer, however when activated the weapon is enshrouded in a hazy blue field. This field is capable of disrupting the bonds between matter at a Molecular level; the field-generator is often hidden within the Hilt of these Close-Combat Weapons. These weapons come in many shapes and forms – from sword to axes to mauls – and can even be made into a gauntlet (see. Power Fist).**

 **Most famously and prolific of all is the** **Chainsword** **; a weapon of such undisguised brutality, that has become undisputed signature Weapon of Imperial Forces. It is a weapon system within a category all its own. The main edge of the Weapon is made of a series of counter rotating Admantium Teeth, which when used tear apart the Target with terrifyingly brutal efficiency, leaving such gaping wounds that even most Krogan struggle to survive such blows. It is perhaps the most widespread of Close Combat Weapons Systems within Imperial Space, and the sound of its revving motor is instantly recognizable by any and all enemies of Imperial Forces.**

 **There is anecdotal evidence of other Weapons such as Psycannons, Volkite Carronades, and Nova Cannons… whose existences has neither been confirmed nor denied. Disturbingly there are also reports of devastating 'Planet Killer' Weapons designed to strip entire Worlds of life within hours.**

 **What can be said of a people based upon the Arms their soldiers bare?**

 **Not much… but it raises a Question… How terrible must their enemies be to necessitate the Creation of such terrible and destructive weaponry?**

 **(Extract from 'Tales from the Lost Galaxy – the Rise of Empire' by Prof. Kirradin Solus Biographer for (the Late) Prof. Mordin Solus)**

* * *

 **Here's Chapter 4. Enjoy. Not much to add on the new Chapter front, I have been understandably distracted.**

 **(I blame - in this order - Mass Effect Andromeda, Major Crimes, Ghost in the Shell, NCIS New Orleans, and finally Homefront the Revolution)**

 **On another note I have a Tumblr Page now. Don't try and look for it just yet, there isn't very much on it (I haven't yet figured how to open it on my Desktop just yet). In time I hope to post what I am calling my Vision Board. This will be concept art from various sources that I have used to imagine the appearance of several Character within half a dozen of my written (and unwritten) Fanfictions. I intend to post a link (or at least some good search terms) on my Fanfiction Profile page once I have properly resourced all the pictures I have used.**

 **Don't worry you should easily find my stories using the appropriate HashTags.**

 **I had a Stargate Atlantis (sort of) Mass Effect Andromeda crossover in the works, unfortunately that has been derailed by not one but two... Mass Effect / Ghost in the Shell crossovers. My brain is weird. Intend to post the First Chapter (mostly just a OneShot for now) next month.**

 **Anyhoo see you guys next month.**

 **Next Update: 30/6/2017**


	6. Chapter 5

**Date Published:**

 **Date Re-Edited:10/12/2016**

 **Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…**

 **So be it.**

* * *

 **Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

 _Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

 **Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 **\- Enter the Blue Dragon -**

* * *

 **+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

 **+=Eden Prime=+**

 **+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

 **+=100 Metres from the Space Port=+**

 **+=[?.?.M?]=+**

 **+=[32.31.10]=+**

 **+=[mark: +** **21.41.00]=+**

* * *

Desolation.

Interdiction.

Exploration.

The desolation was total... within that scorched irradiated ring, that field of burnt vegetation and rubble - which extended from one side of the newly created valley to the other - was almost a hundred metres across... and framed so terribly by partially the destroyed... no the ruined remains of once mighty... the once graceful buildings... that sat like jagged broken teeth along its twisted circumference.

The structures that had once stood here, between these dying monoliths molten metal and burnt plastic that now stood vigil along the fringes of the vitrified field of horrors, had been flattened… nay... worse than that... they had been burned... melted... erased from history... the exposed metal was still glowing a dull burnt orange.

Of the vegetation nothing but blackened stumps remained… and of that only the once mightiest of specimens remained... the fallen trees... the discarded trunks that had been burnt to ashes, shattered and scattered to the winds... broken, cast aside by the flaming giant... the terrible Leviathan... only the largest of the scorched stumps remained, buried under so much death. The smaller rural buildings had been knocked down by the force of its departure, their flimsy construction was no match for the violence of its take-off... which left them all twisted and broken… nothing more than a field of scattered ash and broken dreams.

The only jewel... the only speck of hope in this blackened sea of desolation was a small beetle blue figure... his form shrouded - obscured - by the heat-haze cast from the ruined still smouldering buildings. From a distance he appeared to be little more than a blurred blue mirage... a fevered dream. His apparent speed lost upon featureless plain… this figure sprinting through the irradiated swath of destruction… his passage seen but remembered by none. The azure-blue armoured silhouette traverse this death-scape... seemingly oblivious to the scorching heat of irradiated soil that passed swiftly underfoot.

As he drew closer his form grew distinct, no-longer blurred by the sweltering heat given off by the molten landscape below, as he sped perilously through the desolated landscape, he towered over the once majestic ruins of the Capitol, his unnatural haste blurring his armoured form even further.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Hurdle the burning rubble and avoid the fallen trees... little more than charcoal now.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

The apocalyptic destruction…

The mind numbing tedium…

In the face of such desolation…

Weaker minds would break…

At the sight of such… such…

 _ **Oblivion…**_

But not Sigmund… no... the Sergeant was… **something more** …

Before he was selected to become a Neophyte, he had been the best his world had to offer…

Before he became a battle-brother, his physique had already been far beyond that of a mere-human…

And before he was seconded to Fenris, his mind had already been honed to a point far finer than any blade…

As an Astartes; his amour could shrug off punishment that would obliterate most tanks…

As a Sergeant; he was considered a paragon of leadership, the ideal leader of men….

As a Liberian; he was a Master of Knowledge and an initiate of all things arcane…

And…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of Tactics and of Strategy…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of Logistics and Supply…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of the Arts of War…

No this meagre scene of devastation… would barely amount to anything more than a mere foot-note in his after action report…

 **+=Burnt waste ground. Approximately a thousand metres square (1000 m** **2** **)=+**

 **+=Assessment: Formed by an unknown form of Xeno Propulsion System upon its activation=+**

He might have even bother to include his medical log:

 **+=Radiation Detected: Melanchrome Pigmentation Function Detected=+**

 **+=Extreme Temperature variance Detected: Mucranoid Secretions Detected=+**

He doubted that his report would ever need that level of detail…

 _It probably wouldn't even be necessary_ ; he thought morosely, the vast amount of such details often went to waste in the final accounting.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

The impacts of his armoured boots were cushioned only slightly by the newly fallen grey ash.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

The vibrations mitigated by the artificial muscle fibre bundles in his armour.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

He could continue onward like this for a thousand leagues or more… mile after endless mile…

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Fortunately that would be unnecessary, because less than a hundred metres later –

 **BOOOOM! THUMP!**

The overpressure of the blast-wave staggered the Marine, ruffling the black and white horse hair of his helms crest; the second blast-wave brought his breakneck march to a halt. He turned ninety degrees to face the epicentre of the blast…

 _Curious… that felt like…_

With sudden realisation and an extreme burst of speed toward the explosion…

His armour-systems blared a warning, at his sudden change in direction…

His onboard accelerometer recording nearly ten 'Gees' at the sudden…

Burst of speed, the sudden change in direction, towards his new…

 **Objective.**

He charged forward…

He crested the ridge…

And time slowed…

To a crawl…

In this space between heart-beats, the savant emerged once more…

 _ **Theoretical:**_

 _Transportation Station, two bridges, connecting parallel platforms._

 _Eight Hostiles, Three PDF units, no over-watch._

 _Two Large White units (no previous data), Five Shock-Troopers._

 _ **Practical:**_

 _Eliminate Larger units at range, Engage remaining units in CQB._

 _Interrogate surviving PDF for Primary Objectives._

 _ **Execute…**_

* * *

Time seemed to stand still…

 _So this is how its ends_ , Shepard thought morosely.

Her life flashed before her eyes…

 _At least I think it's my Life… its way more exciting than I remember… please not that part about first grade again..._

The giant Geth raised its battered arm... her scuffed Shotgun clenched tightly in its fist…

 **Click…**

It jammed…

"Hah, take this…," Shepard taunted as she thrust a weakly glowing Fist at it and –

 **Boom!**

The Big-One exploded… as did the one behind it too…

 _Whoa…_ she looked down at her hand, curling and uncurling her stiffening fingers… _it's never done that before…_

She heard another **Boom** , and then the platform shook with a **Thud** , then –

She looked to her right… and froze, at the sight before her…

 _Ah crap, not again_ , thought Shepard as depressingly once again her life flashed before her eyes for the second time in as many minutes.

The new giant blue robot, the one with terrible red eyes…

And massive shield... a wickedly sharp sword, charged…

As Shepard scrambled for something... anything…

The giant charged… right passed her…?

She spun round, drawing…

Her pistol, only to…

Be struck…

 _ **Speechless…**_

"Wha...?"

Well not entirely...

The Geth were all focusing their fire on the big-guys position.

And their rounds were just bouncing off his shield.

He bull-rushed the nearest Geth Shock Trooper.

Guillotining it in half between the surface of his shield and the railing.

Shepard just stood there – **stunned** – watching its blue pack bouncing up and down as it advanced across the bridge away from her, he just stood there taking all that punishment. He never once ducked into cover, then again with the amount punishment his shield was shrugging off... why would he need to?

He advanced inexorably toward the remaining pair of Geth automatons.

Continuously under fire the whole way from the pair of platforms ahead of him.

The way he moved seemed almost… bored, as their fired rained down all around him.

He got within four feet of the first Geth.

With frightening speed he charged at them.

He turned his right shoulder to face the Geth.

He drew his right-arm up, back across his chest.

And swung his massive arm out at the nearest Geth.

Crushing it back against the railing, bashing it to pieces.

Its cybernetic remains tumbling off the Bridge and into the trench.

Shepard, whose jaw was mere moments away from touching her knees, just sat there speechless.

The only thought going through her mind was; _how the hell am I going to explain this in my after-action report? He just Bitch-Slapped that Geth unit like –_

The giant had just gotten to the last Geth.

He leaned, shifting his weight to the right.

His armoured boot lashed out, slamming…

The Geth against a crate, crushing it to pieces.

Watching from the sidelines Shepard could only gawk further…

 _Okaaay… There's no-way that I can explain that_ , thought Shepard as her sarcasm gave way to awe, as she stared down the pieces of Geth that lay at her feet.

"… and to be frank… someone's going to have to explain all _**this**_ to me," she thought out-loud to the platform at large.

Shepard – still watching the form of the giant blue robot as it scanned the platform for more hostiles – broke out of her stunned stupor. Focusing on the huge pack of the blue giant… she came to a decision.

 _Discretion maybe_ _ **isn't**_ _the better part of Valour… 'cause I want to talk to it_ , thought Shepard giddily, as she advanced upon the Giant throwing caution to the wind.

* * *

 _Well… that was boring_ , thought Sigmund with a depressed sigh, which came out of his vocaliser sounding less like static and more like some kind of strangely synthesised wheeze... he hadn't even had the change to use his Foe-Blade.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a human – read as non-hostile – contact approaching him, at least according to his Auspex she read as human. He tilted his head slightly and noticed the soldier – _**in pink**_ – was walking towards him as well. He was about to turn to face her when… he felt it. A deep ringing psionic pulse… one that reverberated deep in his mind and deep in his bones… it was a strangely familiar… yet very alien echo.

He turned away… searching out the source of the ringing noise, he turned to the left... nothing... he turned to the right... almost... he turned to face the gap in the retaining wall and felt… **something**...

He advanced towards the gap in the wall and realised that it was actually some kind of entryway… whatever he was searching for was close, so he moved slowly... advancing cautiously forwards... intent on seeking out the source of the Echo. He briskly marched through the square-archway… leaving behind a rather confused Squad of Alliance Marines.

* * *

Ashley was having a **very** weird day.

 **First** she had been attacked by alien robots… oh... robots that hadn't been seen in nearly three hundred years.

Then she had been saved by some crazy-lady… who then turned out to be 'The Commander Shepard."

So when a giant Geth – that was about to squish her – exploded in a searing flash of light… well…

 _Par for the course_ , thought the slightly desensitised Marine, shrugging off most – if not all – of the weirdness of the experience.

She didn't have time to think about it really… there was still another big one to contend with… and – _**Oh Joy!**_ – He brought friends, she groused sarcastically. She brought up her rifle, to open fire when –

 **Thud. Clink. Boom.**

 **Thud. Clink. Boom.**

… Out of nowhere, this great big Geth about to run her over in front of her just… _**vanished**_ … from the knees up at least. The rest of the Geth was uniformly spread around her position… yes; spread was a very good word for it, cause most of the Machine was spread across the platform in a very fine paste. It was only later when she looked at the footage from her Helmet Cam, that she truly realised what had happened. But before she could even begin to comprehend what had just happened, or how much weirder her – already exceedingly strange – day had just gotten… the platform beneath her feet rattled and shook.

Before she could even think about reacting to – or trying pin-point – the source of said impact… there was a loud crash to her right, and giant blue robot emerged from behind some crates – on the opposite platform – and charged towards her, across the furthest bridge.

She spun to face it, her Rifle coming up when…

"Kaiden…? Did you see that?" she asked the slightly ashen faced Biotic sitting next to her.

"Yes… and according to my Omni-Tool… I'm not hallucinating," he replied calmly with a straight-face, not really believing what he had just said.

"Is he just waltzing through their small-arms fire?" she asked quietly her own voice starting to crack a bit.

"Yep…"

 **Crack…**

"Did he just Bitch-Slap –"

"Yep," interrupted Kaiden once again.

 **Crunch!**

"Did he just…" her voice trailing off as the giant stomped towards them.

Now Ashley Williams was no coward… but after watching said giant robot squash a bunch Geth Super-Soldiers as easily as she might step on a cockroach, well… let's just say she wanted to be as far away as possible from… ' _ **It.**_ ' As if he could read her mind… the giant stopped moving towards them, and for a moment... for one frighteningly long moment that horrible death-mask stared right at them…its piercing gaze seemingly staring right through her.

He then looked away just as quickly, towards an opening to her left… and without so much as a 'How You Do' just strolled ever so calmly away.

"What? Where are you going?" she yelled after the blue giant, without thinking.

"That's a loading dock for the Space Port," informed Kaiden calmly… _a bit too calmly_ , thought Ashley.

Ashley turned to her – 'Technically' – superior officer and asked – read as 'I ordered' – "well then shouldn't we go after him?"

"Our priority is the Beacon –"

"And just where do you think they would store said Beacon, Mister Alenko?" asked Shepard, with a very nasty sounding edge to her voice, it could be said that she was channelling her inner Captain William Bligh.

"Taking point," declared Ashley interrupting the growing tension between Shepard and the Sentinel, forestalling any possible 'keel-hauling' of the 'LT' to a… **much** later date.

She stepped away from between the two simmering Marines (well one simmering and one about to catch fire) and advanced toward the gap in the embankment wall the giant had just stepped through. Ahead of her an archway had been built into the earthen wall. Moments later Williams was flanked – surprisingly – by Kaiden as they advanced along the short open-topped tunnel. It didn't take very long for them to come out on the other side, at the top of a short flight of stairs. Only to encounter an rather wide open space, part loading dock and part open-air storage bay... maybe even part landing pad.

One side of the space was open to the air… exposing a large heavily irradiated field of rubble no more than a few hundred meters away in the valley bellow, either end of the platform was capped by a pair of vertical metal retaining walls. In short order they advanced down a flight of stairs with a rather beat-up looking Shepard bringing up the rear with the only weapon the Commander still possessed that seemed to be functional... her Hand Cannon. They made their way between a group of battered looking containers following a signal on Kaiden's Omni-Tool, Ashley had point… and as she rounded the last corner first, she caught sight of… well... ' **It** ' and honestly all she could do at this point was stare.

"It wasn't doing that before…" Ashley mumbled weakly, her voice as calm as possible given the… strange – _**er**_ – circumstances.

The Beacon – which was already quiet ancient and alien looking – had gotten a whole lot more eldritch looking since she had last seen it… the best was to explain the change was… _**well**_ … that would be because… it was glowing quite eerily… it was glowing **Green** to be specific…

The silent blue giant stood right in front it and Shepard, obviously, wasn't going for subtle when she asked him, "What the hell did you do?"

She then reinforced the accusation by levelling her pistol on one of the lenses of its helmet. To say Ashley was impressed was an understatement… Shepard didn't flinch; she'd just taken a stroll through hell and here she was taking on this engine of destruction. Interestingly the blue machine didn't move either… in fact it made absolutely no threatening moves at all.

With an unexpected sense of diplomacy the giant responded, a synthesised rasp distorting his voice, "The Beacon was active before I arrived… Commander."

Seemingly oblivious to the blue giants attempt at reconciliation, Shepard ploughed onwards with her one woman war on diplomacy.

"Why. Are. You. Here," she declared lowering her weapon slightly.

Sensing the tension leaving the – relatively peaceful – encounter, Ashley moved past them to secure the Loading Dock and a small piece of the surrounding area. She continued to ignore her Commanding Officers attempt at interrogation of a machine – she had to laugh at that – _the Commander just seemed to be acting weirder and weirder…_

"Clear…" she called out, and finding no further contacts, regrouped with the rest of the Squad.

She threaded through the cargo crates, randomly scattered across the Dock haphazardly, only to find Shepard still – well… in essence trying to 'get water from a stone' while– interrogating the robot.

Kaiden – on the other hand – was leaning on the railing looking down into the irradiated crater that had once been a nice rather lush valley. The damage had probably been caused by the discharge from that giant-squids thing's drive core… and as Ashley's eyes swept across the desolation, she realised that very little remained of the small hamlet that once stood there. The Eastern Archology Tower still stood but… all the hydroponic domes and suburban homes that stood between the Space Port and the Spire had been completely obliterated, there was nothing left but smouldering heaps of irradiated slag.

It was truly heart wrenching… the homes remained… but their food… their businesses… their livelihood… it was all gone. It was saddening… the colony was as good as dead…

With a shuddered she brought her gaze back to the Docking Platform… a shiver running down her spine at the thought of the dead… her comrades… the unfortunate Civvies caught in the crossfire. Trying to take her mind off such thoughts she turned back toward the Beacon, and she immediately had a… epiphany. No-one had 'secured' the Beacon… therefore if she were to say… **'Secure It'** herself she could get closer… and once she got closer she would – technically – be able to 'gawk' at it from a much better vantage point…

 _Once it gets off world I'll probably never get to see it again…_

Which seemed like a perfectly good idea until…

" **Commander!"**

* * *

Shepard was getting more and more agitated by the second, hell she had a much better chance of squeezing water from a stone, than getting a straight answer from this… this… **Machine!** Hell he was just so infuriating… he just seemed to exude this quiet stoic aura… _**crap**_ … and the fact that he seemed to be trying to win an award for 'The Most Cryptic Answers Given in a Single Conversation' Award, didn't help matters in the slightest.

"Why are you here," she asked – **again** – her frustration growing with each second, as she kept hoping to get just a little more information out of him this time.

"Orders," he stated, his synthesiser grabbling the word as if savouring it and the irritation it caused.

"Okay… no help there," she muttered under her breath, "whose orders… Alliance Command?"

"No," informed the Machine as he decided to be as equally as eloquent as before.

"Who built you?" she asked shrugging off the previous cryptic answer.

"No-one… I am not a machine," he replied evenly.

"Where –"

" **Commander!"**

Shepard spun round to find Ashley hovering off the ground, her arms and legs flailing for purchase… and she was being dragged inexorably toward the glowing beacon. The green energy around it was twisting into a series vicious looking tendrils, each swirling around the Beacon… before snaked outwards, and snaring - coiling - around the struggling Marine and dragging her kicking and screaming back towards the Beacon.

The giant forgotten, adrenalin surging through her veins, she charged towards the trapped Marine...

She grabbed the arm reaching out towards her, with as much power as remained within her…

Pulling with all her might, fighting against the twisting and snapping tendrils of energy…

With one last great heave, the tendrils of energy, stretched… and finally tore away…

Pivoting around on one foot, she cast Ashley away from the Beacon to safety…

Relief surged through her, the blue giant dropped his shield and the Marine…

That relief was short lived, the Eldritch energies began to twist, to swirl…

Tugging, encircling her arms, her legs, touching something within her…

Her Biotics began to flare uncontrollably, painfully, lifting her up…

And up into the air, dragging her… closer, closer and closer…

Towards the Beacon, as a deep pain began to flare within…

And throughout her mind, touching ever part… growing...

Flaring within the confines of her tortured mind…

The searing pain reached out throughout…

The entirety of her battered skull…

Burning, searing, cauterising…

Obliterating, destroying…

Breaking into her…

Into Her mind…

"Arghhhhh!"

A scream was torn from her unwilling throat, as her entire being felt like it was being crucified by the pale emerald energies… they seared nearly every nerve within her body. Every cell... every organ... from the marrow in her bones to the air in her lungs... all Shepard felt was agonizing, searing pain...

The last cognisant thought that went through her tormented mind, was surprisingly not about herself, it was about Ashley…

 _How accident prone can one bloody woman possible be?_

Before all thought ceased to exist within the confines of her skull, the Beacon decided – almost arbitrarily – to implant a blindingly painful vision directly into her subconcious… before Shepard – unable to withstand any further punishment – blacked out from the mind numbing, absolutely blinding, pain.

* * *

The stoic Sergeant Sigmund was… equally… afflicted…

After all the trials and tribulation… within the Webway…

After all the trauma of the soul-rending deaths of his Brothers…

After all the agony of his transit and arrival through the Warp…

After all the overwhelming pain of the Twin psychic pulses…

After all this and more, Sigmund tortured mind had just about…

… enough presence of mind to drop his shield in order to catch the flailing pink marine before –

The eldritch Beacon pulsed…

The overwhelming pain…

In a final crescendo…

Crashed through…

His mind…

He looked up…

And saw at least a hundred kilos of Biotically charged muscle and armour…

Sailing with the force of fully loaded Rhino straight towards his skull…

"Oh Bugger –"

 **Crack!**

The impact was the final straw that smooshed the camel, and without even so much as a whimper…

He tumbled over backwards, his poor tortured mind finally deciding that…

It had, had enough… and closed up shop for the next twelve…

Or so hours, drifting off into a nice dream filled twilight…

Free of pain... Eldritch Abominations... and arseholes...

Named Julius...

* * *

 **Dreamscape – Sigmund**

Sigmund awoke suddenly, with a start, only to find himself lying faced down upon a plateau of dull dreary grey granite. Slowly, and with a measured pace, so as not to exasperate any injuries he still might have, he turned his head slowly to the right hoping find… more than a dull flat grey granite cliff rising up… up… and away disappearing far above his head. Finding little of note he rolled to his left, while pushing himself up onto his knees, and…

An endless expanse of slate grey – silvery – clouds met his gaze, stretching from one far off distant horizon to another. An Ocean of Clouds… A flat roiling Sea of Storms… extending as far beyond what his mortals eyes could possibly hope to ever see.

 _ **I recognise this world…  
**_

That one lone thought filled his mind as his senses gazed upward and beheld the striking beauty of the Cerulean Warp Storms that plagued the upper reaches of the planets ionosphere, encircling the planet in its entirety. It was just as he remembered it, the twisting shapes, the eldritch patterns that hurt the eyes if you gazed into them for too long... he remembered the old men that had been driven mad as the years beneath the Wrath Of Heaven took its toll...

All of it came rushing back as he turned to survey his barren surroundings, only to find that he stood upon the edge of cliff, more than a mile above the roiling thunderstorms below. He raised his right hand to the Vox-Link on the side of his Praetorian helm, and…

 **Click** … nothing.

The Line was dead… there were no signals within range… and no power even if there were...

He tried to reboot his Armour systems, and… nothing.

He reached out to examine his Armour and Equipment.

He couldn't unlock his Bolter from the mag-rail on his arm.

He reached for the hilt of his Power Sword and pulled –

He couldn't disengage the blade from its mechanical scabbard.

He couldn't find his shield... and without power he had no hope of locating it.

With a low growl of frustration, he dismissed his malfunctioning equipment and began to examine the mountainside he now found himself standing upon. As best as the Sergeant could tell, he stood upon a small outcropping made of cold and barren granite, carved from the jagged side of a nearly vertical cliff-face. his mind noted the impossibly straight – slightly inclined – pathway alongside the cliff… it was flat and broad – more than wide enough to drive a Fell-Blade down, and far too smooth to be anything but artificial.

Seeing little choice he marched along the avenue up the side of a mountain… _this path isn't natural,_ he thought, _to straight… to even... and stuck upon this barren mountainside it's far too well maintained to be natural…_

 _ **This isn't how I remember it…**_

He traced a gauntlet along the cliff-face to his right, his fingers drumming along the exposed Plasteel re-enforcement rods jutting from the smooth almost featureless rock-crete wall. He noticed the blocked door-ways that ran along the side of the avenue at periodic intervals… he had never noticed the regularity of the 'Caves' along the side of this mountainside before. He had never seen these places through his Gene-Hanced sight... before… before he left this World…

 _ **His World…**_

He kept up a steady pace along the mountain path… seeing the World in a way he had never seen it before… through the Eyes of an Astartes. He noticed every crevice and every seam that held up this man-made Mountain range. He saw the artifice… the false structure that lay beneath… the all too clear signs of decay…

He rounded the crest of the mountain… and spied a… shape walking along the edge of the cliff. He focused his incredible sight upon the shape – a hundred metres distant – and the shape resolved into a figure… a small figure. In a sudden moment of vertigo inducing speed he was propelled towards the figure… and after a moment of realisation, he began to understand…

This was neither Real nor a Memory… this was a _**Vision Quest**_. Here he stood upon the peak of a barren mountain, thrust up through the Raging Cloud Sea… grasping at the Heavens and before him facing the Maelstrom… was a small child. It was hard to tell how old he was, all children were small and diminutive compared to an Astartes. The child's gaze was locked upon the swirling stormy cloud sea bellow, seemingly oblivious to his presence, his thoughts joined the Childs as he began to pondered the Storms below...

 _ **Storms that were filled with much more than simple rage and thunder…**_

Sigmund tried to focus upon this ragged little figure before him; he searched his vast encyclopaedic memory trying to find even the smallest mention of this feral Child. He searched through his vast Eidetic Mind, through memory after memory… hour after hour… year after year… spanning more than a Century of experience… Nothing.

 _I need more data… I need more information…_

He approached the small ragged child – standing on the cliff – with caution. He raised his arm… he was less than a metre away from the child when –

The ground began to rumble…

The mountain began to tremble…

And the atmosphere became charged…

 **ROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRR!**

The roar was primordial…

The roar echoed through him…

The roar passed through his chest…

The roar reverberated through of his soul…

From within the roiling ocean of storms, arose a silvery winged serpent…

Its maw… a thin jagged crack running along its sharp reptilian skull…

Its snake-like eyes – at least a dozen of them – its piercing gaze…

Burning… all consuming… a hunger, festering within it…

 **Thump…**

The over-pressure bore down upon them…

 **Thump…**

Soul crushing…

 **Thump…**

Bone breaking…

 **Thump…**

With each beat…

 **Thump…**

From more than one of its…

 **Thump…**

Six wings…

 **Thump…**

 **ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Its psychic presence…

 **Thump…**

So powerful…

 **Thump…**

Bearing down…

 **Thump…**

Waiting…

 **Thump…**

To crush the weak…

 **Thump…**

And yet the Child remained unbowed…

 **Thump…**

The Thunder Drake…

 **Thump…**

The echoes of…

 **Thump…**

A Psychic-Roar…

 **Thump…**

Still ringing across…

 **Thump…**

The mountain peaks…

 **Thump…**

It turned toward the child…

 **Thump…**

It's piercing gaze…

 **Thump…**

Filled with malevolence…

 **Thump…**

Time seemed to stand still… the child stood… his arms thrown wide… energy wreathing his diminutive form…

 **Thump…**

Energy arching between his fingers… his hands raised… clawing at the – twisted kaleidoscope that was the – Heavens…

 **Thump…**

He drew his arm back… a glistening orb of energy… snapping around his fist… the world around him held its breath…

 **Thump…**

With a great heave… he cast the blistering ball of energy… searing a path towards the feral behemoth…

 **Thump…**

The orb illuminated its majestic form… its shadow dwarfing the mountain bellow it… its tail touching the cloud sea bellow…

 **Crack!**

The twisting energy struck the beast… the Warp Energy arching across its serpentine form…

 **Thump…**

The blow didn't even seem to faze the Leviathan… it only seemed to anger it further… its malevolent gaze… filling with rage…

 **Thump…**

The enraged beast drew closer and closer… toward the jagged cliff… its psychic presence becoming more and more overwhelming…

 **Thump…**

Dwarfing the small child… becoming smaller and smaller… a psychic giant trying to crush a metaphysical mouse…

 **Thump…**

Little did the Psychic Leviathan realise… that the small child would be the Harbinger of its Doom…

 **Bang-woosh…**

From across the mountain… along dozens of winding paths… harpoons arched… unerringly towards its flanks…

 **Bang-woosh… Bang-woosh…**

The child never stopped casting crackling orbs toward the silvered hide of the great Drake… its flanks becoming bloody…

 **SCREEEEEEEEEEE!**

Its pained screams filling the air… only now did the crackling orbs of energy cause it pain… as the orbs splashed across its hide…

 **SCREEEEEEEEE!**

As the energy earthed itself along the harpoon cables… Sigmund turned… his eyes travelling down the cabling…

 **SCREEEEEEE!**

His eyes alighting upon the teams of Hunters, manning the crew-served Harpoon Cannons…

 **SCREEEEE!**

The Hunters were swathed in furs… held together by belts embossed with eldritch runes…

 **SCREEE!**

Energy crackled along their lines, striking a crew of Hunters… the energy arching along the runes… washing over them harmlessly…

 **ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Another blood-curdling **Roar** echoed over the mountains… not a single ragged figure stopped his task or flinched from the psychic blow…

 **BOOOOOM!**

The mountain shook, as the beast thrashed… trying rip out the Plasteel Rods that had been driven into its Flesh…

 **BOOOOM!**

And then the Child began to speak, his voice was infused with power… carrying across the winds to every ear upon the mountain…

 **BOOOM!**

"I know not… all that may be coming… but be it what will… I'll go to it Laughing!"

 **BOOM!**

He punctuated each line – of the ancient battle hymn – with a crackling blow to the beasts flank…

 **Silence…**

Time stood still… as the rounded Hunter-Mechs withdrew from the battlefield… their treads grinding along the littered paths of the granite mountainside. Drawing the beast in as the lines grew taunt… drawing it closer and closer toward the ragged mountainside…

 **ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

With one last soul-shattering cry, the great Wyrm collapsed across the jagged mountainside, its dark vitriolic blood staining the mountainside as black as pitch…

A roar arose from the throats of the ragged hunters, that stood there lining the twisting paths on the mountainside… a **challenge** , declared skywards… toward the Heavens! Their cries challenging the long dead Gods that lay above… beyond the vast Warp storms that marooned them upon this dead world. The mood did not seem to extend toward the Witch-Child… he seemed to embody a sense of resigned finality… as he approached the dying beast…

 _ **He had a part to play**_ …

Its broken form lay there cast haphazardly across the jagged mountainside. He climbed up the jagged mountain towards its majestic head… jagged rasps of warm air still escaped from its bloodied maw… its once silvered mane of luxurious fur and obsidian spikes… tainted black by the black vitriol seeping from its veins. He looked the mighty Wyrm in the largest of its half-dozen Serpentine Eyes, staring straight into its ancient soul… their gazes locked as he raised a crackling fist, wreathed in eldritch energies, preparing to deliver the final killing blow…

 **Crack!**

He slammed his fist forward… through the glistening orb of the once mighty beast… with a final shuddering – hoarse – gasp… the beast fell still… its suffering at an end… the sacrifice that it had made would not be forgotten by the Witch-Child whom struck the killing blow. With practised ease, the Child began to move through the required Rituals, a myriad of which came with the success of the Great Hunt, that he was required to fulfil by Powers beyond his understanding… he understood the importance of the Hunt, just a single one of these ancient beasts would feed the entire Clan throughout the arduous years of the High Hell-Winter… the never-ending Psychic-Storms that swept across the Planet… that would ease into Low Winter four years from now…

"Harbinger… the Watcher wishes to see you," spoke one of the ragged Hunters, his battered helm obscuring his features.

 _Hmmmmn… Why didn't I notice his approach…_ wondered Sigmund, a tad reproachfully, inattentiveness just wouldn't do… it was imperative that he maintain a constant… _**Vigilance**_ …

But to Sigmund's surprise the Witch-Child, while seemingly oblivious to the Giant within their midst, ignored the Hunter… and continued studiously with his appointed task. Sigmund fell back into his memories trying to find any mention of this Child or even the Hunter that stood next to him. He searched… he sought… and after what seemed like an age… he almost found what he was seeking. However when the Child turned to face the Hunter – whom hadn't moved an inch – his gaze locked upon the face of the Witch-Child that stood before him.

That face unlocked a memory…

His face was gaunt.

His face was drawn.

His face was dirty.

But…

His eyes… they glowed.

With an inner… _**burning**_ … flame.

His grin… was wolfish.

Predatory… filled with savage glee.

His face… he'd seen it before.

It was a face he knew all too well…

"Of course, Mig'nar," replied the Witch-Boy cavalierly, "he'll probably complain that 'you didn't need to attract every Drake on this side of the planet' or 'your final blow was overly dramatic!'… Well… let's go see what the old ball and chain wants then…"

With a chuckle the Hunter led the sarcastic Boy away from the carcase of the dead Thunder Drake chatting up a storm all the way… the Hunter speaking with a sense of deference toward the Child that seemed… strange… almost… fearful…

Sigmund ignored the rest of the conversation… his mind struggling with what he had just seen… he couldn't understand what he was seeing… or what he was being shown. He wracked his mind for answers… over and over, trying to understand… _**why?**_

He knew that face…

He had seen it before…

Every single time he looked in a Mirror…

"What do you want from me? What do you want me to see?" he begged, Sigmund's eyes searching the Heavens, pleading for answers, "What do you want me to do?"

Turning away from the Witch-Child…

Turning away from the primitive Hunters…

Turning away from the ancient Land Caravans…

Turning away from the carcase of the Thunder Drake…

Turning away from the decaying Mountainside bellow his feet…

He cast his gaze across the Sea of Storms… towards the other jagged mountains that were thrust upward… from within the swirling cauldron of Thunder and Lightning. His eyes were drawn from decaying peak to withered shard - and for the first time - he truly saw this world… not with the eyes of a child… but with those of a man that had seen far too much… he saw his World as he had never truly seen it before…

He had only learnt to truly see… once he had left this crumbling dead world… but still…

The realization of what those mountains across from him were…

The realization of what this world must have once been…

The realization of what lay rotting beneath his feet…

Those Mountains…

They weren't natural…

They weren't a bulwark…

They weren't a fortification…

They weren't the eternal realm…

They weren't the bones of giants…

They weren't a refugee from the Seas…

They weren't a gift from the ancestors…

They were the History of a Dead World…

A testament to the Graves of untold Billions…

With trepidation Sigmund looked at the rotting ground beneath his feet… and he saw the decaying Adamantium Skeleton for what it was; an ancient Highway… running between the man-made Spires of… He looked back and with his Gene-Hanced sight, and beheld the rotting majesty of the very tip of a millennia long dead Spire…

And at that moment he understood… he still did not know why… but he understood. What he had been shown… what he had been given… was… _**perspective.**_

What lay beneath his feet was not a mountain… _**no**_ it was the corpse of a Long-Dead Hive-City… and in the distance he could see another… and another… hundreds upon thousands of them… with a series of arching thin mega-highways connecting them… like a delicate – intricate – spiders web…

The perspective had given him his answers… but in the end it had given him so many more questions… above and beyond all of them… a single thought arose. Growing louder and louder, until that single thought was a cacophony that drowned out all else… and at its peak… at its crescendo it demanded to be heard… but Sigmund had no answers for it… he didn't know… he couldn't know… the answer to the question that was burning away inside of him…

 _ **Just how many innocents had died here on this Techno-Barbarian World during the Old Night?**_

 _ **Just how many innocents had died here on the Witching-World of Sycorax?**_

 _ **Just how many innocents had died here on his Home World?**_

 _ **Just how many innocents had died here?**_

* * *

 **Dreamscape Shepard**

 _There were things… shadowy… hard to see… suffering…_

 **There was a man, trapped… chained upon a gilded throne…**

 _Metal over taking Flesh._

 **A Man commanding the Metal.**

 _Minds being Tortured._

 **Souls being Damned.**

 _Blood being spilt._

 **Daemons being slain.**

 _The Screeching of the Damned._

 **Cries of the Defiant.**

 _Eyes that spoke of Eons of Malice._

 **And a lone figure… suffering in Pain.**

The… flashes were confusing… jumbled… broken. It just… kept playing… over and over again… trying to show her… something… she just didn't understand… she couldn't… they just didn't make sense… it hurt… and with a gasp…

Shepard awoke… filled with pain.

Every nerve, of every cell…

Of every single fibre of her very being.

It felt like her very soul, was being ripped apart… bit by bit… piece by piece. And then… **nothing.** The pain left her, and she felt… cold. No… not cold… not completely anyway… no… she felt empty, and as she felt around, she found that she was lying on something hard… her cheek pressed against its cold surface. With some difficulty… Shepard pried open her heavy eyelids, and realised that the cold feeling running through her cheek, was caused by the gold plated decking that lay beneath her. The pain had sapped her strength… she struggled to lift herself before collapsing weakly back onto the flooring…

 _I suppose no-one would really mind if I lay here for five more minutes,_ she thought tiredly… slowly… letting her eyes drift closed, until –

" _ **AAAAAAHHHHHH!"**_

A Horrifying… blood-curdling scream filled her ears…

Drowning out every other thought running through her head…

The rapid roar of cannon fire filled the air around her…

And the inhuman… screams… of things unheard…

Terrified her… filling her thoughts with death, and –

Shepard scrambled to her feet… and was struck speechless…

A torrent of emotion surged through her, twisting and turning…

Surging between fear and awe… it was horrifying…

Before her eyes a massive chamber exploded into being… expanding outward beyond her mere-mortal comprehension… a perfect sphere that stretched outward and around blurring as the edge of her sight fell off into the distance… she looked downward… and with sudden realisation found herself standing upon a huge disc-like platform floating impressively in the centre of this immense gilded chamber…

Her awe was tempered by her horror…

Her breath caught painfully in her throat…

She could barely comprehend what she saw…

She stood in the middle of a titanic battlefield…

Blood and flame chocked the thick air around her…

Nightmares made real, charged a line of gilded giants…

Each of the gilded giants carried a massive silver halberd…

They scythe through the horde of bloodied daemons, with ease…

But… for every horned terror that they struck down… mercilessly…

Another ten would take its place, brutally… biting… snapping… tearing…

For every tentacled monstrosity that was cut to pieces, torn apart, limb from limb…

Another hundred of those twisted… daemons… would arise in its place, snapping and tearing…

But… when one of the gilded giants fell… nothing and no-one would step forward to take their place…

Morbidly… Shepard's eyes were drawn to the corpse of one of these Gilded Giants that lay at her feet. His armour was… angelic… his majestic knightly arms and armour, were embossed with golden laurels and gilded eagles… which surmounting intricately woven patterns that embossed every single plate of his once mighty form. This fallen seraphim… this mighty paladin… that lay before her, was an awe-inspiring sight of opulence and splendour… and yet… this gilded angel hadn't simply fallen… it had been broken. His armour had been scored and scarred… the finish had been marred and scorched. The body beneath… she couldn't see it… the only sign of life that lay beneath its mighty façade… was a thin trickle of sickly pink-blood that dripped from between the buckled armoured plates of this once mighty Fallen Angel.

Shepard was finally drawn from her morbid vigil… as her ears suddenly depressurised with a popped… filling her pained skull with a sudden terrible noise…

 **FOOOOOOOOOOM!  
**

All rational thought was drowned out by the deafening roar of a massed battery of cannons, tore through the Chamber ripping the very air apart… obliterating any and all semblance of rational thought. Shepard – her hands clutching the sides of her head, covering her ears – swept her gaze across the chamber… desperately trying to find out which one of the Gilded Giants was carrying one of those massive hand-held Cannons… her eyes swept across them… she couldn't understand… she couldn't spot a single one of those boxy guns with their sickle-shaped magazines…

 **FOOOOOOOOOOM!**

Her head snapped to the right… her jaw dropping like a lead brick… what Shepard saw, stunned… frightened… and overall amazed the Veteran Commander. From the wrist of a nearby Giant, two - twin - cones of blistering fire spewed forth… wherever he pointed his wrist, a half-dozen creatures exploded… leaving behind naught but a bloody mist, and he wasn't the only one, up and down the line… dozens of giants raised their wrists, tearing gaping holes clear through the advancing horde. And just when Shepard thought she couldn't be more amazed, she spotted another Gilded Giant… with a massive golden-boxy-pack, and in his hands was a Huge Weapon… so big… she was surprised that it wasn't mounted on some sort of armoured vehicle… she wouldn't have been surprised if such a weapon was meant to be mounted upon a Mako…

 **ROOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Shepard was driven to her knees… by the deafening noise… her eyes locked on the Gilded Giant as his massive Cannon tore massive gaping holes - one after another - through hundreds of Daemons simultaneously. She was almost blinded by the furious stream of light that tore from the Muzzle of his… Gun. Suddenly silence descended… an after-image burnt into her eyes. While Shepard tried desperately to regain her sight, she saw… an inky black mist… swirling around and between the gilded giants. She wondered if this was some new form of horror that the Giants had yet to fight. To her mounting horror – as she watched frozen in terror – an eldritch horror… a thing of nightmares made naught but Fangs and Claws… and bloodied sinewy muscles… materialised right behind one of the embattled giants.

"No…no…nononono," she began to splutter in panic, "look out behin –"

But to her amazement, before her warning had even left her lips, the shifting – swirling – shadows surrounding the giants had coalesced into a shrouded figure. An armoured figure… a Feminine figure… and that woman was carrying a very… **big** … sword. Her blade seemed to be intent incarnate… glittering and ethereal… a weapon of pure unadulterated... sharply honed death. She stood her ground, facing down the malevolent daemon… she waited for the nightmare to approach… she raised her blade… and –

The daemon stumbled, as it approached the shadowy woman, it seemed to lose its shape… its form flickering... breaking apart… becoming little more than a memory… a wisp of thought… undeterred the warrior woman advanced upon the faltering daemon and with a mighty heave she swung he glimmering blade… dashing aside the smoky – wisp-like – nightmare… sweeping the monster away into oblivion to be forgotten and unlike the Monsters that the giants had killed – whose screams were etched and burned into her very soul – the Forgotten… it just seemed to fade away with little more than a Whimper…

Transfixed… Shepard continued to watch in awe as the spectacle played out before her as the Shadows and Giants danced across the field of death… dashing apart the nightmares and casting them from memory… Shepard was struck speechless observing these mighty beings as they _**dealt death to many of these… Daemons… that dared transgress this Holy Place…**_

 _Wait… where did that come from_ , Shepard wondered, her mind rife with confusion warring for control of her frightened and befuddled thoughts.

Confused Shepard began to wonder just where she was…

 _What is this place?_

Her mind ached trying to remember where she had been before…

 _How did I get here?_

But more importantly… and most crucially…

 _Why haven't those nightmare attacked me?_

Shepard turned away from the deathly spectacle, the nightmarish dance continuing to play out behind her… seemingly forgotten, and turned her gaze towards the platform, upon which she now stood… with a critical eye she began to examine the plateau upon which this titanic – apocalyptic – battle unfolded. But before the powerful Biotic could inspect the wreckage of the Battlefield… she had a sudden epiphany…

Here she was in the middle of a battlefield… un-armoured… un-armed… just standing here… shell-shocked and vulnerable in the middle of this cataclysmic battle…

 _Why am I not dead?_

Shepard turned back round to –

"Whoa…," Shepard croaked as she leapt out of the way… as a Gilded Giant sailed past her, right where she had just been standing.

With a roar and a mighty heave he swept his halberd through the space she had just been standing in, smashing apart a nightmare made of fangs and tentacles, splitting it in half… black vitriol spewing forth from its immortal wounds. He slaughtered the creature with a single swipe, a strike which in reality was probably powerful enough to bisect a Mako…

"Well, now wha –"

She looked down, a confused frown creasing her brow, as she had what could best be described as an out-of-body experience. With her eyes downcast Shepard examined how her knees and ankles seemed to have disappeared into the chest-plate of one of the fallen gilded giants. The next words that were to be uttered from Shepard's mouth were filled with power, and would ring out across the entire length of Galactic history for eons to come… they were words that would be spoken by visionaries and luminaries for centuries to come, spoken upon the Eves of their greatest discoveries…

"Well that's weird…"

With a raised eyebrow, Shepard drew a cautious eye over the macabre scene around her knees, at which point she noticed the angular writing upon the giants breast-plate… she couldn't quite read it because it was obscured by her knees…

 _Weird… it kinda looks like Latin_ , thought Shepard with ever growing confusion, her features creased even more sharply by a frown that had no intention of leaving her face, as she tried to ponder this latest – and so far strangest – development.

This development brought a deepening crease to Shepard's strained brow; this was obviously some sort of vivid dream, or something… Looking down she once again tried to figure what else she was missing…

"Strange… that can't be right," Shepard mumbled aloud…

A little tid-bit Shepard had learnt – from those Damn Alliance 'Head-Doctors' – was that it was physically impossible – and scientifically proven – that you couldn't read or even see the written word within a dream. So…

"If this isn't a Dream… what is it?" Shepard asked aloud, questioning the Galaxy around her.

 _ **A Memory**_ … spoke a powerful voice, which seemed to completely by-pass her ears… touching and reverberating through the deepest **darkest** parts of her mind.

The shear amount of **Power** contained within those simple words… drove Shepard to her knees… she struck the ground hard, the sharp spike of pain in her legs was merely a footnote… forgotten by the all consuming power of that **Voice** , that snaked through her pained mind. Her hands clasping her aching head, her panicked eyes spun across the Chamber… in a desperate search for the **source** of that **Voice** …

Through clenched teeth, she growled… she pleaded, "Who… Are… You?"

She barely choked and gasped out that desperate plea, she just… couldn't… ignore the pain… it was too much… too much… and just when it started to ease –

 _ **I have many names**_ … spoke the **Voice** once more…

And yet again the immense **Power** contained within that **Voice** drove almost all the remaining rational thought from her pain addled mind. The world blurred and sped around her… going passed her so fast that she couldn't make out… anything… not without a searing blinding pain that drove a red-hot spike between her ears… she didn't immediately notice when the World stopped spinning around her head, when -

 _ **I am the Sigillite…**_

 _ **The First Lord of Terra…**_

 _ **The Right-Hand of the Emperor…**_

This time the pain was slow in coming… cautiously, Shepard raised her head… she found that she was – strangely – cast within a very deep shadow. Behind her she felt… something… something strong... something powerful... something vast... something growing… and it was only getting bigger… in fright her head snapped round, and the Colour drained from her face… as she beheld the – Awe-Inspiring – source of the **Voice** …

In the exact centre of the gilded Sphere…

Atop a mighty golden faced pyramid…

Atop a giant angular gilded Throne…

Sat a man… enshrouded in a tattered Cloak…

Shackled to the throne by means arcane…

Wreathed in twisting eldritch energies…

His body twisted and broken by pain unimaginable…

Energies flowing through his mortal remains…

And yet he still had enough cognisance to…

 **Speak…**

 _ **I am Malcador… and there is much that I must tell you… Shepard… a mighty Tale that needs to be told…**_

* * *

 **Codex Entry: Space Marine Recruitment**

"… **It is hard to understand the motives of many of the Post-Humans that make up the Astartes Legions… they have abilities we can barely comprehend… they have survived horrors that would break lesser men… and yet they willing sacrifice their lives for people they've never met…**

 **To understand them, we need to understand what type of Child the Legions recruit… we need to understand where they come from… we need to understand the societies that the Space Marines are recruited from… we need to understand the training they have endured… the changes they have undergone… only then can we truly begin to comprehend their motives…**

 **Each recruit is the best of their world, the Legion can spend months searching a single world for a few hundred Aspirants and of those less than twenty can make the cut… sometimes it is as few as… one. These children often come from the lowest rungs of Galactic Society; from the back streets of Omega, to the most inhospitable of Worlds in the Traverse, from the No-Man's-Land of New Compton to the under-city of Neo-Seoul, to the most deadly of Death Worlds within Neo-Imperial Space. These worlds breed the hardiest and most enduring Humans in the Galaxy; even before their induction they often belong to a 'Warrior Culture' within their respective societies… even before they join the strict warrior culture within a Legion.**

 **It is therefore hard to explain to those within the Legion, the reason for such a public outcry by the citizens within Alliance Space and Citadel Society… it is also hard to explain to the majority of Citadel species why Imperial citizens are willing… nay proud… to send their Sons through the Trials to become an Initiate… and consider it a badge of honour to have a family member that participated within the Trials… even if that person was to expire in the course of such a Trial.**

 **According to anecdotal evidence the XIII Legion is possibly unique in its methods of Recruitment and Re-enforcement… unlike other Legions – whom recruit from only a single World, very rarely venturing to others – the Ultramarines recruit from dozens if not hundreds of Worlds – and unlike the other Legions few if any of these world are considered Death Worlds – and send these potential Recruits to a centralised Training Barracks. They also ensure that they have a large number of Neophytes (Scout Marines) in reserve – exact numbers are uncertain, but – it is believed that there are enough Scout Marine in waiting to replace the loss of several Companies (with as many as 1000 Marines per Company) within days…"**

 **(Extract from 'The Many Masks of Trans-Human Men' by Jacqueline Naught)**

 **Space Marine Recruitment consists of three distinct phases:**

 **Aspirants** **; are on average between 6 and 12 years old, they compete in a series of Trials unique to each Legion and sometimes the Trials are unique to the Planet the Aspirants are drawn from. Once they pass the Trials and a Battery of Genetic screening they pass into the next phase.**

 **Initiates** **; or Neophytes are Aspirants that have passed the Trials and have started along the path to becoming fully-fledged Space Marines. Once they reach the Legions Fortress Monastery they are screened for any and all injuries and deformities… and once cleared they are begin the process of Augmentation and the most Brutal Training in the known Universe. After a short period of Brutal Basic Training they are deployed alongside fully-fledge Space Marine 'Battle-Brothers', in units called Scout Squads (of 5 to 10 Men) led by a Veteran Scout Sergeant. It is during this period that they receive their genetic enhancements and gain experience on the field of battle.**

 **Battle-Brothers** **; are the final step for many within the Legion hierarchy, such a honor is only achieved once all of the Initiates Implants and Genetic Enhancements have matured and the Initiates superiors believe that he is ready for further advancement. Once they have been promoted they are provided with a set of Power Armour tailored to their exact measurements.**

 **It is not unheard of for Initiates to refuse advancement, and some choose to remain within the Scout Companies of the Legion. Most Veteran Scout Sergeants are such individuals, and have spent Centuries honing their craft and teaching aspiring Initiates.**

* * *

 **Sorry for the Delay. Last Month I had power about a week out of every month, this month Telkom (in their infinite wisdom) cut our internet for the last two weeks. Unfortunately it only came on today, so... sorry.**

 **Due to the lack of access I was unable to put up my vision board stuff on Tumblr. That's next weeks project, work permitting.**

 **In other news; I have finished writing a typing Story Arch 3 for "A Matter Of Time" onto Arch 4.**

 **Oh and for anyone who has been following the latest Warhammer Lore... Oh... My... God... Cadia? Gone. Half the Space Marines in the Imperium? Dead. Roboute Guilliman? He's back baby! And don't get me started on the Primaris Marines... it sucks that I could never work them into this story... or Grav Tanks... UGH!**

 **Anyway, expect the next Update on: 31/07/2017... Eskom (the arseholes with the power), and Telkom (the arseholes with the access) permitting.**


End file.
